


Common Revelations and Other Catastrophes

by maikurosaki, Stucky1980



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Art and Books, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018, Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, Pining, the barnes family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 08:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14930444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maikurosaki/pseuds/maikurosaki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stucky1980/pseuds/Stucky1980
Summary: In retrospect, the moment it dawned on Bucky that he might be in love with his best friend wasn't really a big deal. In fact, as far as epiphanies went, this one was actually kind of underwhelming. Maybe Bucky had lived his whole life with the misconception that an epiphany was supposed to change him forever and doom him to a permanent state of revelation that would make him see clearly the pathway of his life.What a bunch of crap!





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> A collaboration for Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018 withlisamott9 (Tumblr)/ Stucky1980 (AO3). Please go and show her art all the well-deserved love and admiration because she is an amazing artist and deserves all the praise.  
> ***  
> This fic was beta read by the amazing and ever patient captncat – I'm greatly indebted to her. Thank you mods from CapRBB for making this challenge such a pleasant experience.

In retrospect, the moment it dawned on Bucky that he might be in love with his best friend wasn't really a big deal. In fact, as far as epiphanies went, this one was actually kind of underwhelming. Maybe Bucky had lived his whole life with the misconception that an epiphany was supposed to change him forever and doom him to a permanent state of revelation that would make him see clearly the pathway of his life.

What a bunch of crap!

And besides, it wasn't even a good enough reason to have _that_ sort of epiphany in the first place.

Seriously, Steve wasn't even looking that great at the time – the guy hadn't shaved in about three months, so he was sporting a serious beard, which generally looked nice on him but with that left-over ketchup on the left corner of his mouth, he was actually looking like a sort of demented vampire who'd had too much blood to drink. His hair had grown as well and looked ridiculously fluffy. (Could hair look ridiculously fluffy? It didn't matter – Bucky could call it whatever he wanted in his mind.)

Moreover, Steve was wearing a paint-splattered t-shirt (which had once belonged to Bucky during its good old days), some grey sweats still stained with the coffee he had managed to spill all over him that very morning. Now come to think of it, Steve was also wearing Bucky's socks (because the guy had some really mean cold feet – Bucky would know with the amount of time he had spent trying to dodge Steve's cold toes since they were little) and he was laughing stupidly at a scene in _Hot Shots!_. The joke wasn't even _that_ funny.

So you get the picture; Steve wasn't looking his best that day. He was doing his snorting laugh ( _not_ cute, no matter what Nat said) and he kept on annoyingly slapping Bucky's shoulder at every scene that grabbed his attention (it was like he'd forgotten Bucky had dislocated his right shoulder twice throughout his life – he had been at his stupidest on both occasions).

Okay, full disclosure, Bucky was also not looking his best either: his t-shirt had actually a hole around the collar, his black sweats were pretty desperately in need of a wash and his long hair was tied in a messy man-bun that made him look like an angry hedgehog. He hadn't shaved either just because he hadn't felt like it. He'd also let his hair grow out of sheer laziness and Becca constantly joked about him liking Rapunzel a bit too much. In fact, she had changed his name in her phone to Rapunzel and his ring-tone was one of the songs from the soundtrack of the animated movie. Becca thought she was hot shit and too smart for her own good. She sure as hell _wasn't_. Bucky would have rolled his eyes at her but honestly, he'd been doing that for so long that he was afraid that his eyeballs might literally roll out of his head one day.

So, _anyway_ , it didn't help the fact that Sam just had to go and open his big mouth.

“Damn, you guys look like a bunch of hobos,” Sam said, smirking when Bucky threw a crumb at his head, which, irritatingly enough, Sam managed to dodge at the last second. Damn his army training! “When was the last time you guys showered?”

Bucky threw another crumb at Sam's head then glanced at Steve, who just rolled his pretty eyes at Sam. Sure, Steve was sporting that serious beard and stained clothes but his blonde hair was carefully combed and his eyes were clear and crinkly around the edges and Bucky couldn't help but smile back at his best friend.

Steve took upon him to answer as he bit into another slice of pizza.“You're such a drama queen, Wilson.” Pineapple and bacon. Bucky was disgusted on behalf of all serious pizza eaters throughout the world. “If you really want to keep up to date with our personal hygiene, then I'll have you know that I took a shower this morning and Bucky took a long bath yesterday evening. Is there anything else you'd like to know or are you happy with the knowledge that we comb our hair and brush our teeth regularly?”

“Well, color me surprised,” Sam snarked back and shook his head at them both as if they were personally offensive to him. “Okay, then answer this, smartass: when was the last time you guys went out?”

“Two days ago, Sam.” Bucky chewed from his own slice of pizza – pepperoni, mushrooms, and olives because he was a sane person, thank you very much. “You should know it, pal, since we went to your favorite Thai place and you were there, too. So were these two losers,” he added and jostled Clint with his big toe. His friend squinted at him with just one eye opened then chose to ignore him and close it back as he kept his head resting on Nat's thigh. The lazy bastard had taken his hearing-aids off just so that he could doze off without listening to them constantly yapping at each other.

“Who the hell are you calling losers, Barnes?” Nat said as she carefully took a mouthful from her garlic bread, raising one elegant eyebrow in question. Her hair was tied in a messy bun and her legs were half-sprawled under Clint but somehow she still looked completely ridiculously intimidating.

“You're hanging out with us and you constantly call us losers. Ergo, you two are losers too,” Steve said. He shrugged and blushed a little when he noticed that Bucky was staring at him. Fuck, Steve was an ugly blusher: he just looked kind of splotchy, like he was having an allergic reaction to something rather than actually flushing. “I have no clue whether I used ergo correctly but it sounds cool and I refuse to take it back.”

“You don't even know what it means,” Sam said and dropped his can of soda into the black garbage bag that they always kept around for their movie nights, for easy clean-up, too lazy to clean up afterwards. Steve just shook his head and grabbed another slice of his pizza. That nobody touched. Because the rest of them were all sane people. Did Bucky mention that? “Which only proves my point.”

“Okay, one, how can it prove your point when you didn't make a point in the first place? Two, this non-sequitur is giving me a headache.” Steve grinned with his chewed pizza in his mouth and it really was disgusting, but Bucky couldn't help himself but to high-five him and smile like a dork at his best friend. “See? I know big words too.”

“It was seven across in last Saturday's crosswords, Steve,” Bucky said, “Don't brag too much.” But he still grinned because you know, it was _Steve_.

“You two are nauseating,” Nat mumbled as she finished her garlic bread and was eyeing Bucky's pizza. He was aware that this was a losing battle anyway so he pushed the box towards her. She smirked but quickly took a slice before he changed his mind

“A nauseating pair of misanthropes, that's what they are,” Sam followed up as he polished his last slice of pizza and looked lovingly at the empty box. “You guys forgot what razors look like, you let your hair grow. I mean, the hipster look was fashionable five hundred billion years ago. When was the last time you went out on Friday night? When was the last time you went out on a date?”

“I actually went out on a date last week,” Steve grumbled as he took a sip of beer to wash away what must have been the terrible taste of bacon mixed with pineapple. Still, something bitter churned inside of Bucky's stomach. Huh, he must have eaten too much. He rubbed his stomach in tiny circles, the way his mum used to do it for him when he was little.

“I didn't know you went out on a date,” he managed to say, carefully keeping his hurt out of his voice.

“It was a spur of the moment kind of thing,” Steve answered and smiled shyly at Bucky. “I didn't mention anything because he was an asshole and was so rude with our waitress that I left ten minutes into the date.”

“He didn't greet her properly?”

“Worse. He kept telling her to smile because that's her job and that's what pretty little girls need to do anyway.”

“Fuck, what a creep!”

“Yeah, I thought so, too. I meant to call you but you were at a meeting with Ms. Potts and I didn't want to bother you. And then I forgot because it really wasn't that important.”

Bucky cupped the back of Steve's neck and squeezed gently, “Don't worry about it, pal. I know you'd tell me if it was important.”

“Of course, Buck.” Steve's eyes crinkled adorably around the corners and Bucky couldn't help smiling back because Steve was awesome and deserved the best.

“And you wonder why they don't go on dates with other people,” Nat mumbled and Sam just shook his head despondently.

“I'm just saying that since you two moved in together, you've been acting like a pair of codependent brats – which, let's face it, most of the time you are, but still. This is a bit much even for you guys.”

“I don't understand what you mean,” Steve said and Bucky could sense the way he'd tensed up. Sam had the audacity of not looking sorry at all, which only brought out the worst in Steve. "Sam, what are you trying to say?" There was a little bit of annoyance coloring Steve's voice and Bucky braced himself because Sam wasn't Bucky and he wasn't letting Steve get off the hook that easily.

"That you're a bunch of codependent chuckleheads and that you need to get out more. Separately."

"We're not codependent," Bucky huffed because – well, he didn't know why but there was something bitter now resting on the top of his tongue, something niggling at the back of his brain. He put the rest of the pizza aside because suddenly he couldn't work up an appetite anymore. This accusation had been thrown to them before. It was never pleasant to hear, but somehow coming from Sam it kind of hurt Bucky.

"Really?" Sam made himself comfortable on the armchair and grabbing a beer now, he watched both Steve and Bucky as if they could be under the microscope all of a sudden.

"Sam, I spent almost a month with you, trying to find you a suitable apartment here."

"Yes, and you spent half the time face-timing Bucky and making fun of me."

"Because you didn't have realistic expectations of an apartment in New York.” Steve scratched at his bearded cheek and smirked. “I've never seen a person so obsessed with the cleanness and the strange smells.”

“It's not my fault New York is a dump when it comes to cheap and small apartments close to one's work. Remind me again why I let you guys convince to move back here and abandon my beloved and civilized DC where people know what painting the walls of one's apartment means?”

“Well, technically you convinced yourself,” Nat intervened as she took Bucky's box and began to eat the leftover pizza. “If I remember correctly, you were constantly whining over the fact that all of us were living here and we left you all alone. There was also that messy break-up with Riley and–”

“Which I think we agreed never to mention again,” Sam interrupted, squirming in his seat, his face a little less open than it was a minute ago. Sam loved to get involved in other people's lives and help them out, but he kept his own problems to himself most of the time and Riley had been a sore spot for ages now.

"How about that time I came with you and Clint on holiday in Mexico last spring?" Bucky said because while he hated what Sam kept on inferring, he remembered how hurt Sam had been when Riley had decided to re-enlist and go back for another two tours in Afghanistan, without consulting Sam first. Devastated had been the understatement of the year.

Sam actually grinned slightly condescending as he looked back at Bucky, "You moped around so much, Steve had to take time off and come and join us." Bucky gulped and blushed so hard that the tips of his ears were burning. Yeah, he remembered that so well. The blue ocean had nothing on the blue of Steve's eyes and–

Dread pushed through Bucky's veins like thick molasses, deceptively syrupy.

"Look, Sam," Steve actually crossed his arms and watched Sam with more than irritation now. "I have no clue what kind of point you want to make but Bucky here has always been my best guy and honestly, I don't see this changing any time soon. If you want to call us codependent, then, by all means, do it. But I'm not going to change anything because all of a sudden that doesn't seem right to you.”

This couldn't be happening, could it?

“All I'm saying that I'm a little bit worried about you two, Steve. In between your classes and your painting, you don't have much time of anything, and Bucky is even worse than you, with traveling around and working on books like they're his best friends. And when you're not busy, you guys spend all the spare time together with us or just the two of you.”

Bucky's eyes flickered to Steve then back to his own hands, heart unexpectedly heavy and torn. He was on the precipice because here was the thing: there was no other person in the world with whom Bucky would rather spend time with than Steve. He never got tired of his presence, even when Steve was annoying or exhausted or half-drunk. He wanted to come home to Steve and be with him and the simple thought of sharing that with anyone else was literally making him sick to his stomach.

His eyes flickered to Steve's mouth. He no longer heard what Sam and Steve were saying as the blood rushed to his ears and an unexpected cold sweat broke on his skin. He wanted to kiss Steve so much in that particular moment – he wanted to lick that ketchup from the corner of his mouth, he wanted to let the beard burn happen; he wanted to learn the curves of Steve's lips and learn the taste of his mouth.

Shit!

Double shit!

He was in love with Steve. He was absolutely, one hundred percent, undoubtedly in love with Steve Rogers.

Huh.

Sam was still talking but Bucky couldn't concentrate on what he was saying for the life of him. In love with Steve. Ugh, for a second there, his entire high school life and the first years of college had flashed before his eyes like a bad montage of a half-lived life. Jesus Almighty, but this epiphany was goddamn familiar too. Could a person have a revelation about a thing they were familiar with already? Also, could a person have the same kind of revelation several times during their lifetime? For no other reason than the fact that at that particular moment, Bucky couldn't help but feel a little bit stupid, and yet somehow also relieved.

In fact, he found himself more alarmed over the fact that Sam considered them codependent and apparently incapable of leaving each other's pockets. He didn't want to stand in the way of Steve's happiness.

“Have I ever stood between you and your happiness?” Bucky blurted like a chick on crack (he had no clue how a chick on crack would look like, but in his imagination, it was slightly amusing for his twisted sense of humor). Startled, his best friend turned his attention on him again and those blue eyes promising of endless summer skies and blue wide oceans filled with soft affection and honesty.

“Nope, Buck, you never have. In fact, if I recall correctly, you were the one that encouraged me to go on more dates.”

Damn, he did. Maybe Bucky should refrain in making such helpful suggestions in future. Maybe. On the other hand, he did want Steve to be happy so perhaps not withholding the suggestions entirely would go a long way.

“There you go, Sam. We are codependent assholes who still encourage each other to date.” Bucky smirked triumphantly at Wilson, who rolled his eyes and switched to beer, grabbing a bottle from the coffee table. “I promise we will gladly accept you in our misanthrope old men club. We will meet three times a week, chase naughty children off our lawn, and we will still mock Steve for his disgusting habit of eating pineapple on his pizza. Satisfied?”

“I hope you mean old ladies too,” Nat said as she shifted slightly and let Clint rest on a cushion she somehow managed to pull from behind Bucky's back.

“Our club will be open to all men, women, and non-binary people. We are very open-minded.”

“Not open-minded enough to let kids play on your lawn.”

“I work hard for that lawn. I can already hear my bones creaking, trying to maintain it in pristine condition.”

“I like the fact that in this scenario you think that I would like to spend my old age with you two chuckleheads.” Sam tried to hide his smile behind the bottle of beer as he took another sip from it, but his eyes sparkled and Bucky knew him all too well.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Bucky stood up and stepped carefully around Clint, trying not to jostle him. “I'm going to make some popcorn while obviously crying about my codependency to this dork,” he said and clapped Steve on his shoulder. His best friend offered him a dazzling smile.

“Can you bring some licorice too?”

“Seriously, Steve, sometimes I worry about you.”

“But not enough not to bring me the licorice when you're coming back.” The guy could be a little shit sometimes. “It's in the munchies drawer.”

“Of course it is. Fine, punk, see if anyone will look at you when you grow a licorice belly.”

“I don't have to worry about that. Did you just forget what Sam said? We're codependent so I know I'll always have you.”

“Har har. No, thank you. I know what happens when you eat yogurt, pal.” Steve grimaced and Bucky laughed before making his way towards the kitchen. “Sam, another beer? Nat?”

“Yeah, might as well.”

“I'll have just water, thank you.” Nat finished the last slice of Bucky's pizza and put the box in black garbage bag.

Bucky went to the kitchen and took a bag of popcorn, put it in the microwave and set the timer, then making sure that no one followed him into the kitchen, he grabbed the counter and took a shuddering breath. Fuck!

Okay, okay.

He took another deep breath. Seriously, he was thirty-two, he was allowed to have a minor melt-down in the kitchen over the fact that he was in love with his best friend. Also, if he read another book or saw another movie where such revelations would sort out just about anything, Bucky was going to puke. And all the sane-person pizza he'd just enjoyed would go to waste. Shit.

There was a sense of odd comfort in having the same kind of revelation that he had when he was fourteen and Steve was thirteen and just confessed that he had kissed Lilly Sanders. One, Bucky had never hated someone more in his life. Two, Bucky had realized quite stupefied that he was in love with Steve and he had wanted to be the one to have kissed him. Well, later on, he did kiss him and he _was_ the first boy to kiss Steve, but that was beside the point.

The microwave pinged and Bucky tossed the resulting popcorn into a large bowl before shoving another bag inside it and set the timer again. A shiver ran through his body and he bit his lip as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Thirty-two and still lusting for his best friend. Well, not exactly _still_. Between the two of them, they had three major relationships, three major break-ups and the resulting broken hearts, a couple of one night stands and at least one and a half walks of shame. It wasn't like they hadn't lived their lives separately within relationships that had made them happy. It was just that at the end of that particular year, when Steve had broken up with Blake Summers and Bucky had still been pining over Callum Thorpe, they had fallen back to their usual patterns and in the end it was rather easy to come to the conclusion that what they needed to do was buy a house together, a decision that surprised literally no one but to which surprisingly a lot of people had objections to.

The microwave pinged again and Bucky took the bag out just as Clint came into the kitchen. His friend yawned and stretched before signing to Bucky, _Are you okay?_

 _Don't I look okay?_ Bucky signed back and made a valiant effort of smiling but by the look on Clint's face, it was clear that he didn't succeed.

 _Do you really want the answer to that question?_ Clint opened the fridge and grabbed a beer and a bottle of water for Nat then turned his attention back to Bucky, who this time managed to give him a more natural smile.

 _Too much pizza. Please, grab a beer for Sam as well. I'll bring the popcorn_. Clint did as requested as Bucky opened the munchies drawer where they kept all the sweets and snacks. He grabbed Steve's licorice but when he closed the drawer, he noticed that Clint hadn't left the room.

 _I'm here if you need me_ , Clint signed all sleepy and soft and Bucky didn't need to make an effort to smile this time. It just bloomed on his lips and spread all over his face.

_Thank you, I appreciate it._

_What are friends for?_ Clint shrugged nonchalantly but seemed quite pleased with himself as he went back to the living-room.

Bucky took another deep breath then stepped back into the living-room. Steve had wiped his mouth and that stain of ketchup was no longer there. He still looked adorable though. They smiled at each other as they always did and Bucky settled back next to Steve on the couch. Revelations would have to wait.

There would be plenty of time later tonight when the full anxiety of such an epiphany would hit like a brick wall and Bucky would lose sleep over it. Or not. Most of the time, he was a pretty well-adjusted guy; so well-adjusted that he made his sister sick to her stomach. He let himself soak in Steve's warm presence and paid attention to the movie again. He would deal with everything else later.

~*~

That anxiety that he'd hoped to avoid? Totally there.

Going to work the next day was no fun, his mind running in circles, constantly thinking about what had just transpired the night before. He would have canceled everything and spent his day in bed wrapped up in blankets and feeling sorry for himself like the hapless loser that he was, but work was important to him. Also, he had quite an important meeting with Okoye that afternoon and he sure as hell didn't want to invoke her wrath by not showing up. She had enough of his crap to deal with as it was – running his business and everything – she really didn't need to add to her plate a pathetic man unable to get over the fact that he was in love with his best friend.

Moreover, why the hell was he _still_ dumbfounded by this revelation? Yes, he was exasperated with himself, but then again no one did exasperation better than Bucky. The cold facts told the truth: he hadn't dated in over a year (it might be more, but Bucky _really_ didn't want to think about it), he bought a house together with Steve, he was constantly thinking about the man in question, celebrated all of the holidays with him (and Sam and Nat and Clint but still), and, on top of all that, he'd always been in and out of love with Steve all these years. Yeah, right, _out_ of love. Puh-lease!

He was so caught up by his inner musings (he would prefer to call them as such because pathetic bouts of patheticness – yes, that was a word – had been taken by someone else; he wasn't sure who that person was, but it sure as hell wasn't him. No siree.) that when Okoye finally addressed him, he almost jumped out of his seat.

"You're distracted today," Okoye said mildly, watching him over her stylish eyeglasses, one eyebrow slightly raised as if she wanted to make sure he understood she didn't have time for Bucky's crap today. Luckily, Bucky knew better. He scrunched his nose like a two-year-old.

"I'm okay," he mumbled and crossed his arms, definitely not helping his image of a man having everything under control. Okoye stared back at him like that was the biggest bullshit she had heard all of her life but Bucky was reluctant in confiding in her. She didn't need to listen to the sad and pitiful white man talking about his sad and pitiful little problem, which was not so little but still.

"You're not okay."

"How do you know that?"

“You barely touched your Starbucks concoction and you keep sighing every goddamn five minutes like a lost little puppy. And no, this _woe is me_ thing is not as cute as you might think." She leaned back in her chair and scowled at him. Bucky sighed before he could help himself and Okoye actually managed to say _there you go, moron, proving my point_ with a single look.

"It's personal," he managed to say, voice slightly cracked.

"I kind of realized that. When it's about books, you just get that embarrassing awed look on your face, sniff one of them and that's it, you're happy again." Okoye took her glasses off and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I've never seen a person so happy around books like you, James, so I know that whatever happened, it must be serious since you didn't even crack a smile when you saw the seventeenth-century poetry volume that Ms. Potts sent for restoring."

"I realized something yesterday evening,” he stuttered a little. “I'm in love with Steve." Silence. Okoye's stony face made him so nervous that he blurted out, "Like in love as in I'd spend the rest of my life in bed with him. Like I'd listen to him wax poetics about those stupid franchise movies that he likes so much and about the comics that I'm not interested in. Like I'd listen to his stupid snorts all the time and think they're music to my ears. Like I'd marry him in an instant and carry –"

"I got the picture, thank you very much." Okoye scowled at him again before adding, "I'm sorry but you've already been doing all of that, except marrying him. How's that news to you?"

"Excuse me?"

"What do you mean when you say you realized that you are in love with Steve only yesterday evening? I knew you were an oblivious kind of guy, but not _that_ oblivious." Okoye rolled her eyes at him and leaned forward again, forearms resting on her desk and Bucky definitely felt like he was facing a school principal all over again. "You bought a house with him, you've been living in each other's pockets for ages. You shop together and you constantly talk about him. Honestly, I'm surprised that you don't have children already and three dogs like any other normal white gay couple living in Brooklyn."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously, James. Now, instead of wallowing in self-pity, which you seem to excel at, why don't you man up and confess your feelings so you can have sex as much as you want and spend at least a weekend in bed with Steve without being bothered?"

"Oh my God!" Bucky blushed so hard he could feel the tips of his ears burning. "Can you stop?"

"I wouldn't have even started if it hadn't been for your pitiful sighs." Okoye shook her head in disappointment but mercifully got back to the work at hand.

Bucky bit his lip hard to stop himself from sighing like a moron all over again but couldn't help himself from asking, "Do you think he's in love with me too?" Okoye raised her eyes to look at him and let her expression tell him exactly what her opinion was on the matter. "Sorry, sorry, forget I asked."

"James, why exactly do you think I work for you?"

"Because I pronounced your name correctly and you can tolerate my ass?"

"Yes, true that. But also because you're one of the few people that are smart and learn from their mistakes. Now could you please apply those smarts and stop asking stupid questions?"

"Got it." Bucky finally took a sip of his coffee then smiled sheepishly, "Thank you, Okoye."

She simply glanced at him, ensuring that Bucky would understand she wouldn't tolerate much more of his self-pity party, then got back to work. Nonetheless, he did notice the slight twitch of her lips, which in turn made him smile shyly too. He was really lucky to have found her. Actually, for her to have found him. He was eternally grateful for sure.

Bucky would always consider Okoye as the one that had single-handedly saved his business because while Bucky was brilliant at restoring old books, he was a lousy businessman. She had been one of the few people to have answered his ad when Bucky had looked for an accountant – well, Bucky had been looking for more of a combination of accountant/ book lover/ stern handler that would manage to reign Bucky in and convince him not taking too many commissions the way he'd been doing in the beginning. Okoye was all that and so much more.

She also single-handedly increased Bucky's client list of book aficionados in search of someone to restore the beauty of the volumes back to their wonderful initial state. And while he was aware that his good work and professionalism not to mention his incredible love for books had constituted a great resume, it had been Okoye that had brought in Ms. Potts, CEO of Stark Enterprises, the one client that had opened a new door of countless possibilities for Bucky.

Bucky smiled then concentrated on the volume in his hands, taking in all the issues and making notes, making sure that by the end of the day, he would be able to give an estimate to Ms. Potts on how long it would take to have the volume restored to its rightful glory and how much that might cost. They worked in silence for the rest of the afternoon and Bucky appreciated her calm presence more than ever.

Bucky returned late in the evening whilst the autumn sun was dying on the Brooklyn streets, splashing its orange blood over their quiet street and onto the silent brownstones, some of them showing a tender side of their red brick veins. Bucky didn't smile when he opened the main door and soft notes surrounded him like welcoming arms, but he could feel the tension he'd been carrying around all day melting into insignificant puddles of comfort. Being home was a special kind of blessing that Bucky refused to name for fear that one day it might disappear.

He put his coat on a hanger and dropped his boots, then just followed the soft noises of someone being around in the kitchen. For a moment, he steeled himself against the onslaught of emotion, against the pounding of his heart because he was afraid – he didn't want to lose Steve for he was the stable foundation of Bucky's life – but this sudden discovery of his love ran deeper than any other logical and reasonable thought.

"Honey, I'm home," he mumbled as he entered the kitchen, moving silently on his socked feet.

He stopped.

His heart trembled in his chest as it expanded with so much love for Steve. Seriously, how could Bucky be so fucking stupid and oblivious and not realize what was clearly in front of him? Steve with his soft crinkly eyes, smiling tenderly as he raised them from his newspaper so he could welcome Bucky as he always did – calm and reassured, loving and warm like the best thing that's ever happened to Bucky. Steve with his big hands and thick fingers and his stupid t-shirt that proclaimed him to be an Art Bitch, while wearing his pyjama bottoms inside out because he was a moron and God, Bucky loved him so much. Loved him with enough depth to power up a large city. Loved him enough to lay the world at his feet if so Steve chose (even though Bucky was more of a lover than a fighter throughout his life and he was not ashamed to admit that he didn't like violence one bit).

This love was all-encompassing and reassuring and Bucky felt grateful in that particular moment to have fallen in love with such a beautiful human being, inside and out. Because Steve? Steve would never hurt him, even if he didn't return Bucky's feelings. Steve would treasure Bucky the way he always had. But goddamn it, they had bought a house together, both of them hadn't dated in a while. All of that had to mean something, right?

"Hey, Buck," Steve said softly and squeezed his wrist slightly.

"Hey, Steve," he mumbled in response as he slid in the chair next to him and hid his face into Steve's neck. His friend's hand came promptly to rest on Bucky's nape and seriously, it was stupid and cheesy but Bucky would spend the rest of his life like this if he could.

"Rough day? Did Okoye beat you with a stick to stop you from sniffing the books again?"

"Yeah, something like that. What about you?" Bucky nuzzled Steve's neck and his best friend ran his fingers lightly through Bucky's hair. It was soothing to be comforted with those light touches and those gentle scratches on his scalp.

"I might have argued with one of our visiting professors about queer studies and he might have made a complaint with the dean about my behavior."

"Might?"

"I can neither confirm, nor deny these events."

"Oh, Steve."

"Why does anyone teach queer studies when they have the utmost disdain for it? What is the point in teaching something that has no relevance to your interests, other than maybe making people feel bad about themselves and their interests?" Steve buried his nose in Bucky's hair, his breath ghosting over Bucky's cheek. "I lost my patience early in the dispute and I might have said one or two things that I regret."

"Because they were true or because they made you sound like a sanctimonious asshole?"

"The second thing." Steve chuckled and Bucky pulled him closer to his chest, now fully hugging each other despite the uncomfortable positions. Steve's entire body melted into Bucky's like two halves of the same whole and Bucky's heart expanded further. They've always been in each other's spaces, tactile in asserting their friendship, hugs and kisses that didn't faze people anymore because that was just the way they were. As if both of them were constantly trying to reassure themselves of the presence of the other. As if sometimes their friendship seemed too good to be true and they needed physical evidence.

"Any punches thrown?"

"Nope."

"Fury must have had a field day."

"He might have threatened me with unpaid suspension, although he agreed with me."

"Of course he did." Bucky would have shaken his head if his position had allowed it. While Nicholas Fury and Steve didn't always see eye to eye on certain subjects, they always seemed to agree on the same principles. Despite his rather well-known art, Steve Rogers wasn't exactly an easy person to have as an art studies professor, as Steve was prone to engaging in feuds with every professor that dared to express bigoted or old-fashioned views; he fought for students' rights, and supported all sorts of campus organizations, generally making a nuisance of himself. At times, Steve wasn't the easiest person to live or be friends with either, but then again neither was Bucky; from that point of view they've always been a match made in the hell, as Grandma Barnes used to say.

"Don't worry about it. I can cover the mortgage money this month." Bucky joked lightly and squeezed Steve in reassurance. An old joke that ran between the two of them, although in the early years had been rent money – during those days, it'd been difficult for them to make ends meet and ramen had been a staple of their diet. Their college years had been tough on them, but somehow they had managed to survive.

"Well, you can always become my sugar daddy."

"I don't think I'm old enough for that."

"You're one year older than me. Technically, you can be my sugar daddy."

"Really?" Bucky smiled and leaned back, not breaking entirely the hug. Steve's eyes were full of mirth. "Would this sugar daddy thing include you putting out? Because I'd go amiss in my duties as a sugar daddy if I didn't ask for sex in return."

"Meh, you're not that bad looking. I think I could tolerate sex with you." Steve's eyes crinkled with humor and affection and Bucky couldn't help but smile back.

"Oh, how generous of you! So here I am paying for your board and food and probably painting supplies and you can barely tolerate my presence. Do you think kisses and hand-jobs would keep me happy forever?"

"What kind of sugar – well, I have no clue how I'd be called if you're my sugar daddy – so what kind of protégé do you think I am? The occasional blowjob would be appropriate when you buy the nice kind of painting supplies."

"I feel cheated of my money already." Bucky stood up and went to open the fridge. "I'll include going shopping and making a decent meal into your attributions because there's nothing edible in the fridge."

"You're getting old already since apparently, you forgot about the leftover lasagne from yesterday in the oven. Just turn it on."

"I take it back." Bucky grinned as he turned the oven on. "You're a good sugar boy, Stevie."

"Eww, I think you just ruined the fantasy for me." Steve scrunched his nose and seriously, he was the most adorable thirty-year-old to do that. And no, Bucky wasn't subjective at all.

"Really? Did you fantasize often about me being your sugar daddy?" He smirked as he took out the lasagne.

"Shut up," Steve retaliated eloquently and he put the newspaper aside before he took out the plates and cutlery.

"Should I ask why you haven't eaten?"

"I was angry when I came home and didn't feel like eating." Steve shrugged and sat down as Bucky filled their plates with steaming lasagne. He washed his hands quickly at the kitchen sink then sat next to Steve.

“Do you think that Fury will actually suspend after all?” Bucky asked as he dug into his food. He watched Steve shrug, his shoulders a dejected line of tiredness.

“It is possible. I can't blame him this time, I'm not too proud of myself either.”

Steve had always found difficult to reign in his temper when faced with injustice. Especially when he was a teenager and so skinny that a stiff breeze would have knocked him down. In those days, he had been particularly fond of looking for trouble. And it hadn't been hard to find it on the streets of Brooklyn. The amount of time Bucky had spent looking for Steve or saving him from his own temper should have bought him a cosy little place in heaven, though Father O'Brien apparently didn't agree because _Bucky, you threw punches as much as Steve_ and _let's not forget that time when you stole the wine for communion because you wanted a taste_. Please, what did Father O'Brien know?

“So when he says suspension, how long he's talking about?” There was no point talking about the pay because Steve's art had been selling really well. The threat had been effective not because of the money but because Steve would be prohibited from teaching, which was, after all, something that he absolutely loved. Taking that away from him would be worse than not paying him. And besides, a lot of his proceedings from the university were going towards various charities that were involved with working with homeless or abused children and victims of domestic abuse.

“Well, it's not something that he'd be able to decide on his own. He'll have to speak to the board and the proceedings would be tedious but I think the maximum he could request for would be a month.”

“A month? Jesus!” Bucky leaned back in the chair, abandoning his food. “Were you more of an asshole than the usual?”

“I told you, this time I think Fury is within his right to do so.” Steve took a bite of his lasagna, sheepishly staring back at Bucky, a slight flush of shame coloring his cheeks.

“Is he going to call me and complain about your behavior?”

“Most likely.”

“Steve.”

“Bucky.”

“What exactly did you tell this person?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Of course you don't.”

Bucky returned to his meal and they ate in stifling silence. While Bucky was always happy to see Steve so actively involved in social justice and always ready to defend his principles, just once he'd like for the guy to take a stand without being threatened with jail, lawsuits, suspension, or physical harm.

There had always been this all-encompassing fire inside of Steve, burning everything in its path, sometimes even burning Bucky, but it had never been extinguished. Steve's ma Sarah had thought that it was the Irish in him. Bucky thought it was Steve's unique nature. It was both terrible and wonderful to be in the proximity of such fire. The privilege of witnessing it was incommensurable.

Warm fingers wrapped gently on his left wrist and squeezed lightly. A gesture entirely Steve. Bucky raised his eyes and met Steve's blue ones. Something trembled deep inside of him, a similar fire pushing through his insides, desire coiling deep within his belly but never urgent. His heart clenched viciously at the thought that anyone would ever harm this wonderful human being.

“Don't worry too much, Bucky. I'll be all right.”

“I know.” Bucky tried to smile but he couldn't make his lips even twitch. _I love you so much_ , he wanted to say. _I love you, I love you, I love you_. Steve leaned forward a little and nuzzled his cheek. A low sort of thrill thrummed sluggishly through his veins and he swallowed thickly as Steve leaned back. “I'm just worried that you'll mope around the house for a month,” he managed to find the strength to joke. “Moping Steve is the worst kind.”

Steve laughed bright and warm and Bucky just let himself sink into the depth of that steady and endurable love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lovely image of Bucky reading, courtesy of [lisamott9](https://lisamott9.tumblr.com)


	2. Part II

"Ma, it doesn't look as crusty as yours," Bucky said as he stared disappointed back to his phone, which was currently leaning against a jar of pickles, and showed his Ma the apple pie that they had been working on together for the past two hours. Well, Bucky had been working on it; his Ma had just thrown instructions at him and had chastised him when he hadn't followed her instructions to the letter. He forgot how tough she could be when it came to matters of the kitchen. Let it be said that if his Ma had chosen to be in the army, she would have been the top general for sure.

"I think you used too much sugar," Dad mumbled over his newspaper and somehow in the grainy little image, he could still read his dad's skepticism.

"Dad, how would you know? You've never baked anything in your life." Bucky settled the pie back on the counter and stared at it a moment longer. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he might have pouted just a little.

"That might be true, son, but I've watched your mom enough times to know at this point what the problem might be." This time George's grin was unbearably smug and Bucky shook his head in annoyance.

“Dad, seriously.” Bucky rubbed his face, trying to ignore the fact that his pie really didn't look as great as his Ma's, though that had been a terribly high expectation from his part.

"It doesn't matter how it looks, Bucky, as long as it tastes nice," his Ma said, trying to appease him as she watched him put just a tiny bit of powdered sugar on top of it. "Good boy," she said proudly when he finished and they all squinted in the tiny screen to catch a glimpse of his tasty effort.

"Yeah, good boy," Becca snickered from her side. She was surrounded by textbooks because _post-graduate studies aren't easy, Bucky, blah blah blah, I'm the brain of the family, blah blah blah_.

“And who invited _you_ to this conference call?" Bucky scowled as he looked around at the general mess left in his wake. He hadn't known that a simple apple pie would mean so much work and effort. The disaster in the kitchen was gentled though by the wonderful smells that kept tickling his nose. Maybe the past several hours of hard work had actually paid off.

"Mom, because I'm her favourite. Also, I was hoping to see you drop the ball, dear brother of mine, but it looks like you can add baking to your list of qualities. Damn you!" Becca was famous for literally burning the water and being unable to cook without actually hurting someone. Or herself.

"You are both my favourite,” Ma said. “Steve too, for that matter. By the way, Bucky, have you two boys bought the plane tickets for Thanksgiving?"

"Not yet, Ma. Steve wanted to ask Sarah whether she wants to come with us and I guess he forgot about it. I'll remind him tonight."

"Remind me of what?" Steve asked as he entered the kitchen, his face red from the cold wind, hair mussed. He set the groceries on a chair because the table was an absolute disaster but he completely lit up when he saw the pie. "You baked?"

"Yes, and you were supposed to ask your mom about Thanksgiving."

"Oh man, I completely forgot." Steve stepped closer to Bucky and wrapped his arm around Bucky's shoulders, comfortable and anchoring. "Hi, everyone. Sorry, Winnie, I completely forgot about it."

"Hi, my boy. Don't worry about it. Sarah is coming a week earlier to help me out with the preparations." She pointedly looked at them. “I'm more worried about you since you haven't bought the plane tickets yet.”

"Really? She didn't mention anything to me." Steve took a subtle look around the disaster in the kitchen but Bucky wasn't too worried about not getting some help to clean up – the way to a man's heart was through his stomach and all that jazz, and Steve was a sucker for good food, in spite of his questionable taste in pizza.

"Maybe if you had called as you were supposed to, then maybe both of you would have been up to date with all the arrangements." Ma pushed a strand of hair behind her ear then pointedly looked at Bucky. “That includes you, Mister _I'm calling my mom only when it suits me_.”

"I don't know how all of a sudden this turned into an accusation towards _me_ as well." Bucky grabbed the phone in his hand and leaned against Steve a little more, relishing in the closeness between the two of them. "He's the guilty one, not me." He pointed at Steve petulantly and dodged Steve's attempt to ruffle his hair.

"Really?" His Ma raised an eyebrow. "When was the last time _you_ called me?"

"Well-"

"Right, that's exactly what I thought. If you had called, maybe you'd have found out earlier that Becca is bringing Michael for Thanksgiving." Ma smirked when she saw their delighted reactions, while his dad just shook his head and tried to hide his smile behind his newspaper again. He had learned a long time not to mess with Winnie Barnes – Bucky had always been curious as to how Ma had done the convincing at the time, but honestly, he was kind of terrified to ask.

"Mom! You promised you wouldn't!" Becca squeaked outraged as Bucky and Steve grinned to each other like cats getting plenty of cream all right. "You know how these two idiots are. Now I'm never going to hear the end of it.”

"I have no idea what you're talking about, sis. We're completely innocent."

"Innocent, my ass!"

"Becca, language!" Dad intervened as his sister rolled her eyes but kept quiet. "Now boys, we are going to be on our best behavior and not torment the poor boy with questions about his intentions and whatnot.” His dad paused dramatically and Bucky could only grin wider. “We'll welcome him in our den first, _then_ start the interrogation." George cackled and everyone laughed, except Becca who somehow still managed to scowl at them ferociously through the small screen of the phone.

"Oh, this year, Thanksgiving is going to be fun, all right!" Steve squeezed Bucky's shoulder. "I already know what I'll be grateful for."

"The wonderful opportunity of showing Becca's Halloween photos from when she was twelve to her boyfriend?"

"Hell yeah!" They high-fived like the utter ridiculous dorks that they were.

"I hate you both so much!" Her blush was so furious that it transcended the small screen. However, a huge grin bloomed on her lips and she somehow looked delighted that they were going to put Michael through the grinder. After all, if he could survive a Barnes Thanksgiving, then potentially, he was in for the long haul.

"We have some regular Abbott and Costello right here," Ma said, amused.

"We are hilarious, I must say." Steve smirked and pulled Bucky to his chest. "But he's definitely Abbott and I'm Costello."

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you boys." Ma shook her head then checked the time. "And on that note, we have to go. Craig and Joyce are coming for bridge soon and I need to prepare."

"Oh, the joys of being retired," Bucky said followed quickly by Becca, "Seriously, bridge?"

"We're old people, Becca, that's what old people do."

"Speak for yourself, woman. I still feel young and restless," George said, winking at them. Winnie grumbled something that they couldn't hear but made George laugh out loud. They said goodbye in a cacophony of farewells, _love you_ s, and light threats of calling more often or else, and then it was just the two of them again.

"Have I ever mentioned how much I love your family?" Steve sighed happily and stepped aside. Bucky missed Steve's warmth almost immediately. He smelled so good – crisp autumn air and spicy aftershave that left Bucky a little dizzy with want. Suddenly, he had a strong urge to just wrap his arms around Steve and never let him go; he quickly grabbed the pie to keep his traitorous hands busy.

"They love you too." Bucky put the pie aside and looked for a moment at Steve. "Go and wash your hands while I try to at least clean a corner of the table so we can eat. Dinner is ready."

Steve smiled softly, "Buck, you know you didn't have to do this.”

“What? Do you think this is all for you, pal? Dream on!” Bucky swallowed thickly, before starting to pick up all the dirty bowls and setting them in the sink. He secretly hoped that Steve would volunteer later for the dish washing. “I just really wanted a home-cooked meal.”

“Of course you did,” Steve agreed lightly with all the easiness of a man who most obviously didn't believe one word of it.

Bucky watched him take his thick jacket off, muscles obvious under his shirt, and he wondered for a second what it would be like to bite Steve's perfect shoulders, kiss every inch of his freckled skin, taste and mark it as his own. He blinked a few times, trying to shake away the deep desire that coiled tight into his belly, and went back at cleaning a little the kitchen.

He had lied to Steve a little. Of course, he had wanted to do something nice for the big guy and making a funny drawing was out of the question. The guy would have had blackmail ammunition to last him a lifetime (along the years, Bucky had offered enough blackmail ammunition as it was but luckily, so did Steve – a particular New Year's Eve came to mind every time, as it involved strip poker, karaoke, and a hat, but you didn't hear it from Bucky). So cooking had been the obvious choice. He put together some chicken and veggies, a simple meal that Bucky could cook even in his sleep, with the addition of a home-baked apple pie. Not Steve's favorite, because he preferred pecan pie, but Bucky thought he should start easier.

He glanced down at his phone again. Earlier, Steve had texted him that in the end, the board had decided not to suspend Steve for his 'appalling' behavior, but to officially reprimand him instead – Steve would have preferred the suspension but took the reprimand and wrote an apologetic email to the visiting professor. It hadn't been easy to sound apologetic and sincere when Steve only really regretted _the way_ he had said all those things, not _what_ he had said. Still, he had written it and he had tried to put it behind him. And Bucky? He just wanted to do something nice for his best friend after a rough day.

He managed to mostly forget that he was supposed to hyperventilate over the fact that he was in love with said best friend. There was a comforting reassurance in the way they managed to conduct their daily lives around each other, in spite of being generally busy men with their own obligations and schedules.

Who the hell was he trying to kid?

He was terrified. Sure, he planned to tell Steve. At a certain point. Some other time. Not today. Definitely not this week.

Bucky was an excellent procrastinator so he was going to stall as much as possible. But doing nice things for Steve? That he could do, especially because they were an often enough occurrence. Hence the nice dinner and the dessert.

“So what's for dinner?” Steve asked as soon as he got back in the kitchen, helping Bucky setting the table almost immediately. This had always been one of Steve's aspects that Bucky loved – the willingness to help, that he never waited around or asked with half a voice about what he should do. He'd act immediately, his effort never half-assed.

“Chicken and veggies.”

“You're too good to me, Buck,” Steve said softly and wrapping his left arm around Bucky's shoulders, he pressed a soft kiss to his stubbled cheek. Then he smiled affectionately and let go of Bucky, who stood in the middle of the kitchen with the veggies still in his hands blushing because all this was just too close to the fantasies that had been playing his mind over the past few days. He'd been walking around kind of dazed, dreaming with his eyes open. And not all of those dreams were this tame. Warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading languorously throughout his whole body. He smiled softly back at Steve and they finally took a seat at the table.

“Well, you better appreciate the effort, pal, because, with the way my schedule looks, I have no clue when I'll have time to prepare a meal like this again in the near future.”

“Bucky, this is – wow! Delicious!” Steve groaned and seriously, the kitchen was a little bit hot, wasn't it? Bucky turned his whole attention to his plate, failing to ignore the dizzying warmth that coiled down in his belly. “Seriously, Buck, just marry me and cook for me for the rest of my life.”

“Sure, why not? I don't have anything better to do.”

“Seriously?”

“No, Steve, of course not! I don't want to slave in the kitchen for the rest of my life for your black hole of a stomach.”

“I'll find a way to wear you down, Buck. Just you wait and see!”

“Yeah, keep on dreaming, Steve Urkel.” Bucky smirked as Steve moaned again in pleasure. “Steve, it's just some chicken and veggies, it's not a five Michelin star meal. You don't need to show me your appreciation so vocally. You know what they say, the best compliment for a chef is an empty plate.”

“But this is really good, Buck.” Steve raised an eyebrow in that devious way of his when he tried to look all badass but in reality, managed only to look funny. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Yeah, you're kind of fondling that chicken a little too much for my peace of mind.”

“It's not my fault that you're such a good cook. But I'll try to restrain myself from showing too much appreciation as long as I get two slices of that apple pie.”

“I'm seriously concerned about you. It's like your stomach is a pit of doom or something. You're worse than Clint and let's face it, Clint is pretty bad.”

“Hey, I just love food. I'm a glutton so sue me.” Steve pouted. “If I didn't eat so well, what calories would I have to burn at the gym? Plus, I'm just full of appreciation for the little joys of life.”

“You're full of something, all right.”

Steve snorted as Bucky smirked. His eyes crinkled – blue as the ocean on that spring day last year when Bucky had been thinking of him so much that when Steve had finally showed up, for a second Bucky had thought that he had managed to conjure him with the power of his own mind. How could have Bucky been so oblivious and not see?

Mexico had been colorless and tasteless until Steve had showed up, with worried eyes and a tense mouth, thinking that Bucky hadn't enjoyed his holiday. And Bucky? He'd just jumped up from his towel and hugged Steve like they hadn't seen each other in seventy years, full of longing and relief to see him there and be able to wrap himself around him like a drunk octopus. And Steve hadn't cared that Bucky had gotten sunscreen all over his t-shirt. He'd hugged back just as hard. Bucky could still taste the sand on his lips and smell Steve's aftershave mixing with sun and sweat, leaving him breathless and yearning.

Mexico had been so much fun afterwards – six more days of heaven in which they had swum and shopped and laid in the sun, both of them so willing to touch all the time, as if their own physical presence could be secure through caresses alone.

“What are you thinking about?” Steve asked him, his gentle voice bringing Bucky back to present just like always.

“About Mexico last spring.”

“Yeah, that was a great holiday.” They grinned at each other in sync, a perfect moment of shared contentment. “We should go somewhere nice next year. Just the two of us,” Steve finished a little hesitantly but when Bucky's face lit up, his frown eased almost immediately.

“I could probably arrange two weeks off if I speak with Okoye and Cynthia to make it happen.”

“Me too.” Steve squeezed his wrist in soft agreement. “We should go somewhere in March. For your birthday.”

“I'd like that. I'd like that a lot.”

“Then it's decided.” Steve offered him a heart-stopping smile – maybe that wasn't anatomically possible, but in that particular moment, Bucky couldn't care less. Something must have shown on his face because Steve's smile cranked up a notch and man, Bucky had it really bad. His throat locked, Bucky swallowed thickly and let himself enjoy the moment.

~*~

"Why don't you ever draw me?" he'd asked once while helping Steve sort through his paints and watercolors with exotic names like Alizarin Crimson and Indanthrene Blue. "Or sketch me at least? You've pretty much painted everyone else, except me."

Cobalt Blue Deep had had nothing on the blue of Steve's eyes as they had watched him thoughtfully.

"I always want to capture the soul of everything, the essence, whether my subject is human or an inanimate object," Steve had said, warm and soft, as if sharing an intimate part of him with Bucky, as if extending his hands and saying _Look, look what I could create_ , a proud little god within his own universe. "And your soul is beautiful. By that, I don't mean that the others don't have a wonderful soul or anything.” Steve had shrugged a little, suddenly bashful. “It's just – that is to say – I feel that I could paint you a thousand years, Buck, and I still couldn't catch a glimpse of your inner beauty."

"I'm not beautiful," Bucky had mumbled, blushing furiously, hands trembling on the Oriental Turquoise Blue. "I'm ordinary, just like everyone else."

"You're not ordinary to me." Steve had pressed Cadmium Red Deep next to Permanent Rose, a shroud of impossible affection wrapping around them like a blanket full of stars. But for a blink and you might miss it moment, Steve had thrown him an oddly grief-stricken look and Bucky had spent that night debating whether it had been just his impression.

~*~

Steve had been painting intensely for the past two days. On Thursday afternoon, he had returned home in a frenzy. Bucky didn't manage to get much of what had occurred because, by the time he got home, Steve was already painting, caught up in that wakeful dream state that characterized his work sometimes. Bucky hadn't managed to speak with him much since then.

When Steve got an idea, it was impossible to take him away from it until he was spent and exhausted until his creative hunger was assuaged for the moment. Sometimes it took weeks on end, when Bucky could barely concentrate on his own work, worried that Steve would forget to eat again or walk late into the night taking photos, then spend the early hours of the morning mash them in collages, glued together with string, withered leaves or splashed with paint, mesmerizing lines of blue or green swirling like mystical snakes on photos of a derelict city, loneliness and alienation spilling all over the pages, hope a silver glimmer in between them all.

And Bucky loved it all, because at the very core of their friendship, before all the camaraderie and the trust and the secrecy that had always united two friends, Bucky had always respected Steve and his art.

(He looked down at the two sandwiches that he had brought upstairs and the glass of water as if they could tell him the answers to his problems – well, he really only had one problem, and besides, it was pretty stupid to look for answers by staring at food like a moron.)

Bucky shook his head and opened the door of the studio. His breath hitched, captivation and affection washing over him in reassuring waves.

The special feeling of watching Steve paint had never faded with time. Ever since they were little, Bucky had been more than happy to watch Steve countless hours as he drew, immersed completely in the art of creating something new. Art had been what defined Steve down to his very core and more often than not, he'd have his hands covered in tiny smears of color that bloomed merrily on his skin as if Steve's veins themselves were made of the warmest colors.

There was something fascinating even now to watch this tall and muscular man making all those elegant moves, creating universes and new meanings on a piece of canvas or paper or glass. Steve's artful endeavors had been many, only a quarter of them seen in galleries. Bucky was aware of his unique privilege, always having been privy to such intimacies with an incredible artist. It had constantly annoyed him how people couldn't see how exceptional Steve was in spite of his bad asthma and the heart murmur and all the other health issues with which he had been born. All those physical challenges shouldn't overshadow that ingenious fire inside of Steve, a fire that had always burnt bright.

Bucky sighed and leaned against the wall, watching Steve as close as ever. If he were honest, he'd always been jealous of that fire. Seeing Steve scalding everything in his passion, living so fully, even when life had been hard, it had been a permanent lesson that Bucky had had to learn.

Bucky, who had it all – family, friends, health, and passion for books and sports – had found himself in a position where not a lot of things brought him that incredible joy of life that Steve always seemed to possess. In high school, Bucky floated from the track team to the lacrosse team to drama club to chess club to reading club. Nothing had seemed to touch him and he had never applied his skills too much. It used to drive both his parents and teachers insane, but none more than Steve. A lot of times in high school they fought over Bucky's inability to pursue a passion or interest for long, how he'd get bored and change daily. On the other hand, Steve was fully immersed in his poetry club and social studies club and debate club. He pursued his interests with admirable dedication, in sharp contrast to Bucky's flighty indecisiveness.

Then terror and uncertainty struck Bucky's life all at once. In a move that just about no one had seen coming, Bucky had realized gradually but surely that he was gay, that his interest in the male form was constant and powerful, and that his particular bromance with Steve had turned into something more. All the turbulent emotions surrounding the realization that he was gay took his mind off from the impossible love that was blooming inside of his heart with the steadiness of the ocean, powerful and all-encompassing. He came out to Steve one night during one of their usual sleepovers, voice cracked and full of tears, afraid and agonizing. Steve's response had been genuine in his complete affection and full acceptance – he had hugged Bucky fiercely and told him he was still Steve's jerk and no one else's.

Coming out to his parents had been the most difficult thing he'd had to do in his whole life. It had been easy to keep it a secret – always the popular kid, he had been surrounded by girls and boys alike. It wasn't hard to hide in plain sight. He kept it a secret for a long time, terror winning out over the glimmer of hope inside of him that his parents would accept him just as he was. Bucky got hired that summer before senior year and under Mr. Brooks' guidance, his interest in book restoration became a full-time passion. That summer, he had begun putting money aside in an attempt to become financially responsible, aware that this might be the only safety net he would have. Putting money aside and getting good grades – these two goals alone had kept him sane throughout that year.

(Bucky slowly let himself go down to the floor, drawing his knees to his chest, but not missing any of Steve's gestures. He watched his best friend's muscular back and listened to the swishes of brush over the canvas, music playing softly in the background, continuing to reminisce.)

By the end of the senior year, he was a mess. Holding such vital secrets inside had eroded his confidence, isolating him not only from his own family but also from Steve and Clint (who by then had become a permanent fixture in their friend group). It had all come to a grinding halt when he finally came out to his parents. He couldn't take it any longer.

The pressure had been horrific and he still couldn't remember much of that moment, except the image of his own hands clasped in his lap, knuckles white, as had told his serious, fervent Catholic parents that he loved boys.

"Please, don't hate me,” he had whispered, his voice shot to hell in the silence that had buried the Barnes' living-room. "Please.” He had drawn himself in, head bowed, and all he could remember was how he had kept on shaking and shaking and shaking.

"Hate you," his father had appeared to say rather than ask and maybe he didn't remember much but he did remember the way his stomach had plummeted, almost sick with grief. "I must have done a terrible job as a father if you'd come to the conclusion that I might hate you for who you love." Bucky had raised his tear-streaked face to watch his father's eyes, watery and full to the brim with the kind of love that only parents could genuinely comprehend. Bucky had sprung in an instant and collapsed into his father's arms, crying like a child and shaking, positively trembling, even as he had felt his mom's arms around him, even as he felt her hugging them both because there was love and an acceptance there that Bucky would never encounter again.

"It's okay, it's okay, we love you, it will be okay. My sweet boy. My Bucky," his mom kept saying over and over. It took Bucky to realize what she was saying as he had sobbed into his father's chest, imploring over and over again for them not to hate him.

"We would never hate you, Bucky. I thought you knew that," his dad whispered. "I can't say that I don't worry about how the world will treat you, about how you might suffer at times and be made to believe that you don't matter. But I knew, so help me God, that from the moment the doctor put you in my arms and proudly declared that you're my son, I knew that I'd do anything for you, that I'd love you forever and always. And since then that love had grown more and more and more. We love you and I want you to know that you have our support and blessing and that you don't have to hide who you are with us. Never, you hear?"

Bucky had nodded and sobbed like the child he still was and let himself drown in his love and respect for his parents. When Becca caught them half an hour later in the same tight embrace, she'd started to cry, thinking that something was terribly wrong. Then, after being told the truth, Becca had wiped her eyes and punched Bucky in his right shoulder (later on doomed to be dislocated twice), informing him very kindly that if he pulled this shit again and scare her so bad, she'd kill him. Then promptly told him that Jessica Schuler's brother was gay and hot and maybe they should date.

Bucky had gone to church that Sunday. It had been his first visit in a long time, and he prayed to God to thank him for his parents and his sister and Steve and Mama Sarah. And while the rest of the family hadn't been that easy (his grandparents on his mom's side didn't acknowledge his presence anymore and didn't speak with him, like quite a few other members of their extended family), the gay life had treated him well. Even with his unrequited love for Steve, even when his best friend came out to him as bisexual then promptly had a serious relationship with a man, breaking Bucky's heart in the process. That had almost fucked things up for them completely and it had taken longer than he'd thought to shake the loss and the pain that had plagued him for quite a while.

He got up from the floor and watched Steve caught in the vision of his creation. He loved Steve – there was no point hiding it anymore. He'd have to find a way to tell Steve soon because it was eating him alive. And maybe there was a chance that Steve might respond in kind. Steve had been his only constant in his life and Bucky remembered all too well the pain of living those years with the uncertainty of Steve's feelings, unable to find the courage to confess.

He'd find a way.

He closed the door behind him with a soft click.

~*~

The soft darkness of the early hours of the morning still reigned inside his room when Bucky woke up groggily with a soft enquiring sound on his lips upon sensing that someone was in his bed.

“I'm sorry,” Steve whispered as he wrapped his arms around Bucky and pulled him closer to his chest. Bucky pushed back inside of that safe embrace and settled his arm over Steve's, holding tight.

“Finished?” he mumbled unable to form coherent sentences, feeling himself lulled back to sleep by Steve's gentle breath.

“Yeah. A while ago.”

“Nightmare?” Because sometimes Steve would get these horrendous nightmares that would leave him breathless and sob like a child. The nightmares had started around the time Steve's dad had died of brain cancer while they were still in their final college year. It had been an awful blow for Steve – his dad had been complaining for a few months of terrible migraines before Sarah had convinced him to go see a specialist. The diagnosis had come out of the blue like the most terrible freight train, crushing their small and cozy life to pieces. A few short months afterwards, Joseph Rogers had died, leaving pain and suffering behind him. Bucky shuddered even now thinking about the paintings that Steve had done during the following year of mourning – terrible dreamscapes of dark colors, hopeless and loveless.

“Yeah.” Steve pressed his forehead into the back of Bucky's neck and sighed heavily. Goosebumps spread over Bucky's skin like wildfire. And Bucky wanted, oh how he _wanted._

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, struggling to open his eyes. He was still utterly exhausted and required at least a few more hours of sleep but if Steve needed him even in the most remote way then Bucky would be there for him, just like Steve had always been there for him too.

“No,” he felt Steve's mouth brush the back of his neck. Steve then pushed his forehead against the same spot and took a deep breath. Bucky squeezed his hand a little tighter. “Can I just sleep with you tonight? I don't want to be alone.”

“Sure.” Bucky pressed his cheek against the pillow a little a harder. “Just keep your cold toes away from me.”

Steve chuckled and Bucky could feel his body relax slowly but surely. He fell asleep to the beautiful sound of Steve breathing close to him and to the thought that he'd love to have this every night for the rest of his life – just this, sleeping together, legs tangled and arms wrapped tight, breathing slowly into the good night, unable to tell where one finished and the other began.

~*~

In retrospect, Bucky should really stop beginning conversations with "Don't panic!" Because one, that was the most inane and utterly ridiculous thing to say to the person he was calling, particularly if that person was Steve. Second of all, that phrase actually was just a perfect incentive to fucking panic. If he could, Bucky would roll his fucking eyes at himself. He couldn't at the moment because his head really fucking hurt and Steve's breathing was harshly echoing in his left ear as the doctor just scribbled on his chart, making notes probably over how stupid Bucky had been when he first arrived at the emergency room.

"Bucky," Steve said, deceptively calm, because Steve was always at his worst when he was actually unbelievably calm, "when in the history of ever has that helped? Where are you? What the fuck happened?"

"I might be at the hospital," Bucky squeaked. It was embarrassing, but he was always intimidated when he was on the receiving end of Steve's fury, though it happened pretty rarely and mostly when Bucky wasn't taking care of himself properly. They mother-henned the hell out of each other, to the point of putting to shame both of their actual mothers sometimes. At times Bucky wasn't proud of that, but that didn't mean his own traitor of a doctor was allowed to hide his smirk behind a stifled cough. The fucker was barely even _pretending_ not to listen to their conversation.

"Might be?"

"Okay, I totally am." His head hung between his shoulders dejectedly. He had hoped that he would have got away with Steve finding out about his injury at home when he had already been treated. But no such luck.

"Are you all right?" Bucky could already hear the rustle of papers and the panicked mumbles as Steve asked someone to take over his classes that afternoon or cancel them because there was an emergency in the family. The hitch of Steve's breath made something bitter coil inside of Bucky's stomach. He had never wanted to worry Steve – he had already so much going on with his own health that Bucky's should have been the last thing on his mind.

"I'm okay, hence the _don't panic_ thing."

"Bucky, you're in the hospital. You're never in the hospital unless you're accompanying me or Clint and that's only when _we're_ the fucking stupid ones with our usual antics. So if you're in the hospital, it must be something at least a little bit serious. Therefore, stop fucking stalling and tell me what happened.”

"I was trying to cut a piece of leather but somehow the knife slipped and I cut myself pretty bad. My left forearm was a mess and I needed stitches.” Bucky wasn't going to mention how the thick towel, which he used to wrap his wound, had been drenched in blood in a matter of minutes and how it took some convincing to get the cab driver to take him to the hospital. “They gave me some iron tablets for the blood loss and the good kind of pain relief, but I'm woozy and the asshole doctor doesn't want to discharge me without someone taking me home and making sure I'm all right."

"Hey, you know I'm still here, right?" the doctor intervened but at the end of the day he was the particular asshole who wouldn't let Bucky go home without calling someone to pick him up so screw him.

“I know you're here, pal, but let me tell you, if you keep sticking around you're going to regret it,” he snapped. He wasn't proud of himself but the doctor only smirked again and Bucky really wanted to punch him in his doctoral face. Was that a word? He didn't know but if not, he sure as hell wanted to invent one right now.

“Who are you talking to?” Steve asked, then quickly rattled off the address of the hospital to the taxi driver.

“The doctor is here.”

“Oh, great. Put him on the phone.”

“I'm not going to put him on the phone.”

“Bucky, put the doctor on the phone.”

“No.”

“Bucky.”

“Steve.”

“Bucky.”

“ _Steve,_ ” Bucky whined. Although the doctor was an asshole for not letting him off the hook, he wasn't _that_ much of an asshole to deserve Steve in his mother-hen mode. “I'm not going to let you talk with the doctor so you can be rude.” Bucky scowled at the doctor, who now watched the exchange with a rather baffled look on his face. It was better if he whispered harshly when he followed with, “He's the man with the power, Steve. I don't want to spend overnight here.”

“Why would I rude with the doctor?” Now Steve sounded confused, which might be just Bucky's impression and he really didn't want to risk it but then again – Steve interrupted his revelry. “Bucky, put the doctor on the phone. _Now_ ,” Steve growled. Bucky was alarmed to notice that he was slightly aroused all of a sudden. He blushed furiously and looked at the doctor, whose kind eyes watched him patiently.

“I'm sorry in advance, doc.” He winced as he gave the phone to the doctor. The man took it with a puzzled expression.

“Hello? This is Dr. Banner. How-” The following conversation would have been rather amusing if Bucky wasn't a little bit loopy and slightly in pain. At this point, he wasn't sure whether the analgesic that they gave him was wearing off but he did feel a slight pinching sensation around the area where he had managed to stab himself. He watched as Dr. Banner managed to go through the full range of emotions, from confusion to annoyance to amusement to that soft understanding smirk again that made Bucky wonder just what the hell Steve was ranting about on the other end of the phone. By the time the conversation ended, Dr. Banner and Steve talked like they were good old friends while Bucky was the annoying child that climbed a tree, despite several attempts to dissuade him, and promptly proceeded to fall out of the tree.

Huh, he had the strangest thoughts when he was on the good pills.

“He said that it will take him another fifteen minutes to get here,” Dr. Banner said at last and gave the cell phone back to Bucky only for him to notice that Steve had already hung up.

“This is all your fault, doc,” he grouched like Mr. Grouchy McGrouchison. Bucky was so funny in his mind; too bad it didn't translate well in the real world. “Now he's going to be impossible.”

“You could have called someone else.” Dr. Banner checked his watch and added another note on Bucky's medical file.

“Okay, yours and Nat and Clint's and Sam's,” Bucky amended.

“I'm glad that all of a sudden, I know all your close friends and I seem to share an equal amount of blame with them, Mr. Barnes.” Dr. Banner stood up and finally put Bucky's chart back to its place. “I know I'm going to regret asking this but how come it's their fault as well?”

“Because if Nat hadn't left for a conference in Seattle, and if Clint hadn't been busy with training sessions this afternoon, and if Sam hadn't been chairing another VA meeting, I could have called any of them. But no, you had to ask someone to pick me up and they had to be very busy. And now Steve's is going to be totally overbearing while calling me an idiot jerk three times a day. At least.”

“I see.” The doc appeared to try to stifle his chuckles but he wasn't very good at this job. With all due respect, Dr. Banner's bedside manner needed some work. “Well, look at the bright side, Mr. Barnes.” He was halfway out the door when he turned and added for the dramatic effect, “I could have asked you to call your mother.” And shut the door right into Bucky's stunned face.

He winced. Ma would have been ten times worse than Steve. At least his best friend wouldn't give him chicken soup as if the goddamn chicken soup cured everything. Or broccoli. She would have definitely tried to feed him some broccoli or spinach, because _they contain iron, Bucky,_ and _you want to be strong, don't you?_ And then when that wouldn't have worked, she would have emotionally blackmailed him because she was incredibly good at that. Thank God, ma and dad retired back to their family home in Indiana or Bucky wouldn't have heard the end of it. He'd probably let them know of what happened when they went there for Thanksgiving. Now, if only he could stop Steve from telling Becca, that would be awesome.

By the time, Steve came and picked him up, Bucky was dozing comfortably in his own little world, dreaming that Becca was trying to get in touch with dr. Banner to find out all of Bucky's sordid medical details. When Steve hugged him gently, he found himself smiling and nuzzling Steve's cheek, letting himself be petted and comforted.

“You came,” he sighed happily.

“Of course I came, Buck. I'd always come for you.” Bucky opened his eyes. Steve bit his lip and petted his friend again. He made his frowny face when he was too worried but didn't want to tell Bucky, who could always tell by the frown that he was sporting, deeper than the Marianas Trench. “Come on, let's go home,” Steve spoke gently as if afraid that he might startle Bucky.

“Yeah?” Bucky yawned and stretched a little before he realized that the slight twinge he felt in his arm earlier that day was now a full throb. He scrunched his nose. “Ow.”

“Dr. Banner prescribed you some pain relief medicine so as soon as we get home and you eat a little, I'll give you a pill as instructed.” With sure and safe hands, Steve helped Bucky get up. As soon as he was up, Bucky nuzzled Steve's neck and said sleepily, “And you're going to yell at me, aren't you?”

“Yes, I'm going to yell at you.” Steve hugged him again and let Bucky inhale him deeply because that wasn't weird no matter what everyone else was saying. “But I'll do it tomorrow. Today, we're just going to eat and cuddle because you scared the shit out of me.”

“It's just a cut.”

“It's not just a cut to me.” Steve's voice cracked and Bucky couldn't stand the thought that he made Steve worry. He should never worry about Bucky because Bucky was supposed to always take care of him and make sure that he was all right, not the other way around. “I'm supposed to take care of you too, Buck. How could you think that I shouldn't?” Huh, maybe he was a master Jedi after all and he could communicate his thoughts to Steve directly. Maybe their friendship had reached new levels of awesomeness and now they could read each other minds. “I can't read your mind, you moron. You just said everything out loud.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“Huh, then I'm slightly disappointed.” Steve kissed him on the top of his head in reassurance. “Did you just kiss me?”

“I did.”

“'Tis nice.”

“Come on, Buck, let's get you home.”

“Home?”

“Home.”


	3. Part III

Bucky stirred awake into the comfortable semi-darkness of his room, his wounded arm carefully resting on a soft pillow. He was covered up gently under his comfort blanket, which Grandma Barnes had made for Bucky a long time ago. That woman had never had a comforting bone in her goddamn body, but she had managed to make the best gift for Bucky's graduation. The blanket was fleecy, slightly worn out, and the perfect shade of cobalt blue, like a summer sky before a storm. He grinned for a moment imagining what she might have said, had she witnessed Bucky's clumsiness earlier that day – she never had much patience with Bucky's quirks.

The lamp by his bedside cast a homely light throughout his bedroom. He blinked a few times to clear his vision and realized that Steve must have pulled the curtains – the street-lights could barely cast their spell into his room. For a moment he watched the spidery fingers of light sleepily curling around the curtains without much success. He could hear a car every now and then but it was mostly quiet. Bucky wiggled a little to find a better position, sending a dull throb of pain through his entire left arm. Ugh, maybe moving wasn't such a great idea.

Bucky had a vague recollection of how he managed to get there, although he did remember vividly that Steve had helped him change into his lounge sweats and his comfy green t-shirt. He groaned with embarrassment and hid his face in one of his pillows. Damn it, could this good-for-nothing day just end already?

He raised his head again and noticed there was a glass of water by the bed so he grabbed it gently, getting better at ignoring the throb in his forearm. He drank it quickly and then set it back, grabbing his phone next. There were several missed calls from Sam and Clint – Bucky had a bad feeling that they were already aware of the situation and seriously, Steve couldn't keep his mouth shut – and more than a few messages from Okoye. Luckily, Bucky was a marvelous scholar of the _ignore it and it might just go away_ philosophy, so he did just that and rested back on his pillows.

He swallowed thickly, throat suddenly tight.

He was a bit disappointed that he hadn't woken up with Steve next to him, maybe just to ensure that Bucky wouldn't roll over onto his stupid hand that he had managed to stupidly cut because he was terribly stupid. Oh, wow, melodramatic much?

Bucky huffed and tried to swallow down his disappointment as he stood up. He wasn't as dizzy as he had feared. He yawned and scratched his bearded cheeks as he went to the bathroom and relieved himself, washed his hands and face. He avoided looking at himself in the mirror, wishing he could just shut off his fucking brain for once.

Impulsively, he decided to go and search for Steve, maybe try and make him feel guilty for dumping Bucky in bed alone and convince him to order some Chinese, not necessarily in that particular order.

Instead, at the bottom of the stairs, he froze on his tracks.

Steve had pulled all the curtains closed, effectively shielding them away from the real world. Only two lamps were switched on, casting a comfortable yellowish light. The heating was on, their electric fireplace glowing softly. Bucky smiled, a little confused. Was this a romantic set up or something? Was Steve waiting for someone? Should he grab some food and head back upstairs?

He went to the kitchen only to spot Steve dressed casually in black lounge sweats and an old grey Henley, trying to arrange as much food as humanly possible on the only tray they had in the house, a hideous housewarming gift that Clint had bought for them from Iowa. It had garish purple flowers painted on it and its legs were always wobbly, but they used it with surprising frequency.

"Hey, what are you doing up?" Steve asked, looking pleasantly surprised as he managed to balance the tray and a shy smile at the same time. Oddly enough, Bucky found himself blushing. He ran his fingers through his hair and pushed at the carpet with his big toe.

"I didn't know where you were," he found himself admitting out loud and that made Steve's smile light up even more.

"I was just bringing dinner up." Steve took the tray in his hands and Bucky stepped away, letting him pass, before switching off the light and following Steve upstairs. His stomach clenched miserably as he checked Steve out – he looked so soft. All Bucky wanted in this moment was to curl around him and settle in for the night. Maybe it was this longing that made it difficult to think straight.

"I thought you were having someone over," Bucky found himself admitting to Steve's back as he hesitantly climbed up the last few steps. The tray tilted precariously for a moment as Steve froze in mid-step, his shoulders a sudden tight bow, back stiff.

"You're hurt," came the short explanation, as if Bucky being hurt was enough for Steve to pause his entire goddamn life. Steve's voice had sounded hoarse as if he took a shot of gravel for courage beforehand. The tensed line of Steve's shoulders didn't relax as he started to climb up the stairs again. Something ugly churned in the pit of Bucky's stomach and he wondered for the billionth time why the hell he couldn't just keep his mouth shut because when it was open, he couldn't seem to stop himself from putting his goddamn foot in it.

Steve seemed upset and Bucky swallowed thickly as he sat down on the bed like a naughty child. He settled back against the pillows and pulled the comforter over him again, using it as a shield against his own big mouth. He cupped his own elbow, letting his nails dig into his unblemished skin. And maybe it wasn't a good idea to do that since it was the hurt arm, but Steve wasn't even looking at him, the smile gone like a dandelion in the wind. Bucky sighed heavily. He hated no-smiling Steve.

"Are you mad at me?" Bucky asked in a small voice because Ma had raised no coward and years of troublesome experience with Steve had taught him that any confrontation should be addressed straightforward or it might turn even worse.

"You're hurt but you still thought I might have someone over," Steve said unhappily, brows furrowed as he placed the tray – everything smelled _so good_ – in front of Bucky. “And now you're wondering why I'm upset.”

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that.” Bucky shrugged sheepishly as Steve sat next to him, the tray tilting precariously for a moment. Steve grabbed a bowl and a spoon, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth. Bucky grabbed the tray in a white-knuckled grip before he managed to find a new equilibrium for it. When the tray settled again, he dared to glance at Steve. For once, Steve's eyes were an impenetrable wall of hidden truths.

“You know that I'm not a guy that likes arguing, but that was a pretty stupid thing to say. Even if I was with someone, you know you'd still be my best guy, Buck. I wouldn't just abandon you and let you fend for yourself while I go have fun with someone else.”

“Excuse you, you love to argue.”

“That's what you got from that whole thing?” Steve huffed as he sipped from his soup carefully, avoiding to look at Bucky.

“Well, it was the most blatant lie,” Bucky pouted, suddenly warm and fuzzy at hearing Steve's genuine affection spilling from his words. “I can already picture you arguing with Saint Peter if let's say, God forbid, he doesn't let us through the pearly white gates. In all likelihood, the guy would give up on principle as long as he didn't need to listen to you ever again.”

“Well, then he'd better not try to stop us from crossing to the other side.” Steve's lips twitched into an amused curl. “Also, I don't know what amuses me more: the fact that you think we might spend the eternity together or the fact that we would die simultaneously.”

“If not, I'd still wait for you, Steve.” Their eyes met over bowls of tomato soup and a terribly flowery tray.

“That's very kind of you to say,” Steve said warmly. Bucky blushed heavily and pretended that his soup was all of a sudden quite interesting. “Although, I suppose you're right: you might be the one waiting for me, considering how clumsy you are.”

“Here we go.” Bucky frowned, biting his lip as he moved the spoon in circles as if it were a tiny Moses playing with a soupy Red Sea. Steve was less than impressed with such display of childish behavior and chose to ignore it completely by digging in his soup even more. “I knew that the lecturing was about to come. All right, spit it out, you might as well say it all now.”

“I'm not going to say anything, except maybe you should be more careful.”

“Really? That's it?”

“Don't push it, pal.” Steve scowled slightly at him. “Contrary to all evidence, I'm aware that you're not, in fact, a ten-year-old but a grown man. However, if I do remember correctly – and please, do correct me if I'm wrong here – every single time you've ended up in hospital, it was always as a result of your carelessness or stupidity.”

“Hey, that's uncalled for!”

“Really? I've only got two words for you: last winter.” The little asshole even held up two fingers to prove his point. Bucky was tempted to bite them but that adding childish to the list of Steve's gripes about his character probably wasn't the best move right now. He wasn't going to resort to that because _he_ was a classy guy. “Dislocated shoulder! These are also two words.”

“Now you're just being pedantic.” Bucky pouted like the grown-up man that he was. “Technically, you're right. Although, in my defense, I really thought it was a good idea at the time. And besides, don't lecture me, Mr. _I'll punch anyone who's gonna look strangely at me or mine or basically, any living creature on this planet and a few inanimate objects too_.”

“It's too long. It wouldn't fit.”

“It's not too long and it perfectly describes who you are.” Bucky pointed with the spoon at him, frowning even more. “You've been in more than your fair share of brawls. Come to think of it, Saint Peter might have a point in not letting you cross the pearly white gates.”

“You were right there with me!”

“Just because someone had to save your skinny ass.” Bucky grinned when he saw Steve blush. “But thank you for coming to get me and making soup.” Bucky took another sip. “Also, just as a side note to this wonderful conversation–”

“Well, I'm an excellent conversationalist,” Steve preened. Having finished his soup, he placed the empty bowl on the nightstand and rested on the pillows next to Bucky, who was fondly rolling his eyes at his best friend; fondly and a bit sarcastically, because at the end of the day, Bucky was no saint either.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

“I _know_ I am.”

“You _think_ you are.”

“Seriously, Bucky, you do wonders to my ego.” Steve shook his head with a rueful smile again and frankly, Bucky was most definitely not a saint if the inclination to just kiss the hell out of his best friend in that particular moment had anything to say about it.

“Someone has to keep you on your toes. Like I was saying – before I got rudely interrupted – why soup? And why tomato soup for that matter?”

“It's your comfort food.” This time, tiny splotches of red stained Steve's cheeks as his shoulders hunched a little. “I hope I didn't mess it up.”

“It's really good, Steve. Thank you.”

Let it be said here that Bucky was only human – _a little devil, more like it_ , Father O'Brien might have added but then again the Father really didn't know much about anything. Also, for that matter, why Bucky kept on thinking about what Father O'Brien might have added or said or did? He really needed to have his mind checked and possibly go to confession. Yeah, Father would have a field day, finding out that Bucky was in love with Steve. Again. Like he hadn't heard enough of Bucky's rumblings when he was younger.

Also, Bucky? Was a rambler. A cowardly rambler that shouldn't be doing what he was about to do.

He leaned slowly to his side and softly pecked Steve on the cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured into that beloved cheek, Steve's woodsy scent wrapping comfortably around him. Wood and paint, sweat and after-shave mixed together in a spellbinding scent that Bucky would have gladly inhaled for the rest of his life. It wasn't _that_ creepy, give him a break. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always, pal. 'Til the end of the line, remember?”

Could words break hearts literally? Bucky found himself pressing the heel of his uninjured hand into his chest, trying maybe to stop the galloping of his heart or the impossible wave of love for Steve that crashed against the gates of his chest, threatening to spill over and create a goddamn mess.

“'Til the end of the line,” he mumbled and closed his eyes, leaning his head against Steve's shoulder. Tears prickled at his closed eyelids. Why was he so goddamn stupid? Why couldn't he just come out and say it?

“Does your arm hurt? Do you need a pill?” Steve asked softly as his hand came up to run soothingly through Bucky's hair.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, although his arm really wasn't that bad; he probably didn't actually need a pill yet. But Bucky was a cowardly, pathetic liar that lied. “Could we stay a little longer like this though?”

“Sure, Buck.” Steve took the tray and settled it down before encouraging Bucky to go back to his original position, head resting on Steve's shoulder, pressing his nose into the soft fabric, and honestly praying to find the balls to just confess his goddamn love for Steve.

“ _He had confessed_

_into the bend of an elbow,_

_to a tiny freckle,_

_chest tight,_

_love dripping quietly from his eyes,_

_'I'd follow you into the dark and lonely night,_

_on treacherous seas,_

_or stormy skies,_

_for I am yours and you are mine._

 

_'I'd be with you forever,_

_my beloved,_

_'Til the end of the line_.”

Bucky didn't remember how the rest of the poem went or who wrote it but the memory of reading it one stormy Sunday afternoon still remained with him – he and Becca had been confined to their house by the terrible weather outside and Ma had made them choose a book and read it. Bucky had chosen a volume of poetry that Steve had mentioned once or twice. He skimmed through it before his eyes landed on that poem. He'd read the poem several times, chest constricting painfully because there had been a sense of loneliness and longing at the heart of the poem that had shaken even teenage Bucky to the core. The following day, he had shown it to Steve, thinking that maybe he had gone insane, thinking that maybe it had been stupid to be so disquieted by a poem. Thinking, always thinking.

But Steve had read it then glanced at Bucky. Then re-read it and glanced again at Bucky. Then he hugged him tightly and hadn't said another goddamn word. But for some reason, since then, whenever they had needed the presence of the other or encouragement, ' _til the end of the line_ had made it in their friendship vernacular and had become another _BuckyandSteve_ thing.

Bucky knew that he could look up the lines he remembered with such clarity, and Google would magically show the original poem, who wrote it and its title, robbing Bucky of a little mystery. He loved the fact that he didn't remember anything about it anymore – maybe he was fearful that if he found it again, the poem wouldn't hit him in the solar plexus like it had on that afternoon. Maybe he was afraid that the meaning was completely different. But the words had struck a chord within him and a chasm had been opened and then filled so quickly with love for Steve.

Dear Lord, but he loved this man! How much he loved this man! He nestled quietly into Steve's side until Steve's arms wrapped around him protectively. He held tightly onto Steve's Henley and just breathed.

“I'll follow you forever, my beloved,” he mumbled shakily, “'til the end of the line.”

Steve's arms tightened him gently around him, and Bucky let himself breathe.

~*~

Apparently, _'til the end of the line_ meant until the following morning when Steve had to go to work. Bucky had to become human again to ensure he arrived in time for his appointment at eleven o'clock on his own. Had it been any other day, Bucky would have indulged in a rare day off; he would have stayed at home and most likely would have moped around the house like the pathetic loser that he was. Unfortunately, life couldn't be bothered with Bucky and he was forced on his merry way to his offices, which were situated on the last floor of a rather romantic-looking red brick building.

He made sure he dressed properly for the cold wind outside. Despite leaving him to fend for himself, Bucky had to speak with Steve at least twice to convince the big guy that he felt fine, had taken his iron tablet and no, he hadn't stopped for another Starbucks (a total and blatant lie but how was Steve to know?). Earlier that morning, while drinking his first coffee, over the phone, Bucky had to listen to Nat's snickering and Clint asking pertinent questions like any normal human being – when he was going to take his stitches out? The following week. How many days did he need to take iron tablets? At least two more weeks. Was he going to pay more attention next time? Bucky had rolled his eyes and hadn't promised anything so preposterous.

On his second serving of coffee, Sam had called as well, offering advice (read: definitely nagging) and ensuring (more nagging) that they'd still get to hang out for lunch in the next few days before Bucky and Steve travelled to Indiana for Thanksgiving. He would have had a third cup of coffee, had it not been for Steve and his damn long arms, prying the mug out of Bucky's hands with his deft fingers and sending Bucky upstairs to take a shower and change. By then, the bandage had been carefully wrapped in transparent film and Steve had kissed it softly as if his kiss would make it better (God knows, Bucky wouldn't have minded trying that several times).

After becoming human again and taming his wild hair, he managed to convince Steve not to tell anything to Ma or Sarah, even to Becca for that matter, as his sister might spill the truth immediately, the snitch. He'd probably tell Ma when they'd go back to Indiana, hoping that Becca's boyfriend would take the spotlight from him and his Ma wouldn't nag him about it. Also, he really didn't want another person asking what the hell happened when he didn't have much of a clue anyway. Apparently “ _a bout of clumsiness” isn't a satisfactory answer, Bucky_.

The only thing that had been on Bucky's mind that morning had been Steve's soft kiss. If it had been possible, Bucky would have made sure to complain of anything just to have Steve kiss him tenderly like that. Damn it, he really needed to stop thinking about Steve and his beard and his goddamn blue eyes and the way he had smiled cheekily when he had looked at Bucky that morning, not even blushing, the brave bastard. Or the oblivious bastard. Couldn't Steve see the way he affected Bucky?

The silence trickled by. Bucky squirmed in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position and glancing at just about everything in the room except the woman sitting in front of him. Okoye was just staring him down with that look on her face that made him feel like an idiot. Which he was, but still, it was the principle of it, damn it. It didn't help that she was dressed smartly, in a black dress and a red blazer, looking as if she just walked off the cover of a fashion magazine, promoting brilliant business women. He, on the other hand, could already feel himself sweating through both his blue shirt and his dark cardigan. Luckily, he had dressed in his nice pair of black jeans, so he didn't look completely helpless.

"James." Okoye spoke deceptively calm, glancing at his wounded arm as if she possessed X-ray vision and she could attest to the gravity of his wound. "I said talk about your feelings, not bleed yourself to death because you were distracted by said feelings."

"It was just a stubborn piece of leather. I wasn't distracted."

"Really?" She pointedly glanced at his arm again and then sighed in defeat. "Honestly, sometimes I think you're one of those white people that die doing something spectacularly stupid. So stupid that they end up on national news."

"There's a strong possibility of that. However, I'd like to point out that this is the first time I hurt myself in over a year, so I should get some extra points for that." He smiled that rueful smile of his that always got him out of trouble with Principal Denvers, though not so much with Father O'Brien. Okoye just stared him down until Bucky found himself twitching and squirming in his seat like a twelve-year-old. As the seconds trickled by, Okoye's eyes softened a little.

"Are you all right?" she asked in a gentle tone. Bucky definitely loved this protective side of Okoye more.

"I'll survive. The stitches come out next week and I've got an appointment with a physiotherapist look at my arm, but the doctor said I should be all right. You know what they say, you pay for two things in this life: arrogance and stupidity."

"Well, we know for sure what you paid for." Okoye pinched the bridge of her nose. "What did Steve say?"

Bucky winced, remembering Steve's worried eyes when he had come to pick him up from the hospital, the way he had carefully shared the bed with Bucky, the way he covered the bandage with so much care like Bucky would break under those paint-smeared fingers at any given moment. Steve was worse than his Ma – was it strange though that Bucky loved their mutual (though sometimes overbearing) manner of taking care of each other? Ugh, maybe Sam had been right when he accused them of being codependent.

"That bad?" A satisfied grin bloomed on her lips.

"Let's just say he talked with my doctor and he was the one to come and pick me up from the hospital."

“Oh, you leave out all the funniest parts." She grinned even wider. "James, please tell me that there was some lecturing involved."

"At length." Bucky sighed. "I had to eat soup to make him feel better.”

Okoye chuckled. "That's what you deserve for being careless." That soft look was back on her face. "And I assume you didn't mention anything about your feelings since our last talk."

"I didn't have any opportunity," Bucky said, picking at the sleeve of his jumper. "So,” he took a deep breath, “what can you tell me about Mr. Solovyov?”

“He is a Russian oligarch, owner of one of the largest privately-owned commercial fleets in the world. He splits his time between New York, Saint Petersburg, and The Caribbean.” At Bucky's slightly raised eyebrow, Okoye huffed and leaned back into her comfortable armchair. “He apparently likes to party quite a lot when he isn't interested in rare collections of fairytales or first editions of his favorite books.”

“No wonder he's best friends with Stark.”

Bucky winced, remembering the first time when he had met Stark. It hadn't been the best first impression that the rich playboy millionaire could have left. Subsequently, he had been inclined to refuse dealing with anything in relation to the guy. But, presumably, just like all Stark's associates, Bucky had fallen for Ms. Potts' charm. And that's how Bucky ended up the only one responsible for further acquisition of rare books for their already impressive collections and restoring the books that needed a bit of love.

Moreover, having met Stark on more than a few occasions since then, Bucky had realized that he'd judged the man's character hastily, having fallen for the same gimmicks most people seemed to be prone to fall for: believe the tabloids. Yes, Stark was manic and rude and his jokes weren't so funny after all. On the other hand, he was respectful of people's professional opinions, he seemed to love and respect Ms. Potts tremendously, and he got involved with other professionals in the field of medical engineering, running a trial of a newly synthesized metal to create better prosthetics for children and veterans. Also, the guy was scary smart – Bucky really enjoyed talking with him about Russian literature as he was one of the two connoisseurs that Bucky knew of.

A soft knock on the door interrupted Bucky's thoughts as Cynthia, his part-time personal assistant, opened the door and smiled shyly. “Mr. Barnes, Ms. Gurira, I apologize for the interruption, but Mr. Solovyov is here.”

“Thank you, Cynthia, please send him in and make sure we aren't disturbed.”

“Very well.” Cynthia nodded with a soft smile then let Mr. Solovyov enter.

“Mr. Solovyov, welcome.” Bucky stood up and plastered his professional smile. “My name is James Barnes, this is my associate, Okoye Gurira.”

“Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Barnes,” Mr. Solovyov answered, a large smile adorning his quite handsome face. “It's a pleasure to meet you too, Ms. Gurira.” His hands were firm and calloused, a sure sign that the gentleman in question liked physical labor. Surprised, Bucky shook his hand a little more firmly than necessary. Solovyov's green eyes sparkled with mischief as if he could read Bucky's thoughts and enjoyed being the source of astonishment. “My name is Lev Solovyov. I'm sure Pepper mentioned why I am here.”

“Of course, Mr. Solovyov,” Okoye replied smoothly and gestured to the armchair next to her. “Please, have a seat. Is there anything we could offer you to drink?”

“No, thank you. And please call me Lev.”

“Like Lev Tolstoy?” Bucky wanted to face-palm almost immediately. Like he hadn't heard enough of his own stupid name and the fact that it bore resemblance to the probably most obscure American presidents. He had to go and do the same thing to others.

“Indeed,” Mr. Solovyov chuckled. “I wish I could say he was one of my uncles twice removed from my mother's side. Alas, we don't have anything in common except the same forename and middle name as both of us were named Nikolayevich as well, and the love for Russian literature.”

Bucky smiled wider, “In that case, please call me James.”

“Is this how friends call you?” And this time Bucky was sure that it wasn't just his imagination: Lev appeared to have seen something he liked if Bucky were to judge by the slightly arrogant twitch of his thin lips. Bucky had seen documentaries of subtler wolves about to surround their prey.

“No, my friends call me Bucky,” he answered cautiously.

“Bucky?”

“I was named after both grandfathers: James from my mother side and Buchanan from my father's side. My sister's nickname for me stuck throughout time and today everyone calls me Bucky.” Bucky smiled warmly at Okoye, who politely rolled her eyes at him. “Except for Okoye, who always wants to keep things professional and calls me James.”

“I think Bucky is a childish nickname and it should have reached its natural death a long time ago,” Okoye answered, voice bland, and it startled a laugh out of both of men.

“Then may I call you Bucky as well? Or I have to wait until we are friends?”

“Are we going to be friends?”

“Well, from I understood from Pepper, you studied Russian literature at Columbia, you love books and are an excellent restorer of books. I imagine we're going to be friends just fine.”

“Why? You studied Russian literature at Columbia as well?” The reply came swiftly enough to make the other man burst out into a startled laugh again.

For almost an hour afterwards, they discussed Russian literature and favourite Russian novels – Solovyov's was Dostoevsky's _The Idiot_ , while Bucky was partial to Sholokhov's _And Quiet Flows The Don_ – with little input from Okoye, who seemed content to just watch them exchange opinions about canon and how Dostoevsky had been influenced from an early age by fairy-tales and legends, probably one of the things that made Lev partial to most of Dostoevsky's work. Lev also showed a preference for Pushkin's work as he confessed to having recently purchased an _Onegin_ edition from 1837 which was considered by many as the best version of the said novel in verse. Bucky's eyes might have glazed over at hearing that – due to the difficulty of translating most of his work, Pushkin was at times ignored in the Western critical thinking and discussion.

“So,” Bucky had tried to redirect the conversation to the matter of business, slightly embarrassed that they had talked so much in the first place, “how can we be of assistance?”

“I might be in possession of one of the rare Afanasyev volumes from 1863 that needs some significant repair.”

“Jesus!” Bucky swallowed audibly as his hands were already twitching to get his hands on the wonderful volume that Solovyov took out of his leather messenger bag. Bucky took out a pair of special gloves and carefully pried the volume from its case, greedily taking a closer look. God, Bucky loved books!

“Why fairytales?” Bucky asked almost absent-minded, as if he was already on a different plane of existence – or at least this was how Steve had described it several times. However, in reality, holding such an old tome was actually nothing short of miraculous; mankind had always been far too prone to book burning for Bucky's taste, destroying what would have been priceless artifacts when it was convenient to further up some agenda or another.

“I find them exquisitely wise.” The sincerity and sudden seriousness of the answer made Bucky look up at him again. The man was economical with gestures; however, his eyes lit up with passion. “There's something peculiar in their mysterious manner of showing the preordained nature of the world. They talk about exceptionally cruel things, but also, about incredible proofs of empathy and sacrifice. I find myself fascinated by the way they changed along the years.”

“Like _Grimm's Fairy Tales_?”

“Exactly.” Bucky was surprised to realize that although Lev had smiled from the start of the meeting, it was the first time when the smile actually reached his eyes. “I'm fortunate enough to own a Constable edition of _Grimm's Fairy Tales_ and-”

“Wait a minute,” Bucky interrupted quite rudely and Okoye stiffened in her seat. “Are you going to tell me that you've got a first edition of the Grimm's Fairy Tales, printed by Constable and Co. and illustrated by Arthur Rackhman?”

“Yes, I do. I also own a first edition published by Freemantle and Co. from 1900,” Lev replied and leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs now, offering Bucky his undivided focus. “And a few more first editions, much older than those ones. I also own several copies of hardbacks, the edition of little importance to me, as I was more fascinated to perceive each changed little detail, their own additional footnotes, some of them correct, others not so much, but still just as fascinating. Of course, you have guessed by now though that I'm partial to Russian fairytales.”

“Of course. And none a greater collector than Aleksandr Afanasyev. I think he roughly collected around six hundred fairytales, right?” Bucky glanced at the old tome in his hands, its Cyrillic letters glimmering with long-forgotten pomp.

“Yes, you know your stuff.” Lev rested his chin on the heel of his nice palm. “Afanasyev was an avid and diligent collector. He would collect even six different variations of the same folktale, just to ensure that he had saved as many variants of it as possible. No wonder he needed eight volumes to publish his life work. Propp himself used this collection to study the irreducible elements of their narrative.”

“Another great folklorist,” Bucky nodded, ignoring the way Lev's glance intensified in delight. For a moment, Bucky thought that he might have been tested, Solovyov's inclination of throwing names and editions definitely not a coincidence. Bucky was terribly inclined to mention how one of his professors had been interested in making them apply Propp's analysis to a set of specific tales taken from five different cultures, then further de-constructing them by applying structuralists methods a la Levi-Strauss or Roland Barthes. And then compare the results, analyzing the pros and cons of each method. Man, that class had been a nightmare. Looking at Lev now, the guy might have enjoyed such a task.

“There are some wonderful illustrated volumes. I like Ivan Bilibin's the most,” Okoye spoke for the first time in what felt like ages, probably sensing the awkward moment.

“Indeed.”

“I won't ask you whether you have such a volume in your possession,” Bucky joked although he kind of already knew the answer.

“That wouldn't be necessary. I can confirm that I have such a volume in my collection,” Lev said with a slightly arrogant curl of his lips and this time he winked. His gaze landed heavily on Bucky and held tight like an anchor stuck in the bank.

Had there been other circumstances, maybe Bucky would have been inclined to have a torrid affair with the Russian oligarch because he was honest enough with himself to admit that the man was attractive. He couldn't deny that there was something magnetic about Lev, maybe the way his lips were just that side of thin, giving them a cruel twist. Or maybe it was the way his square jaw clenched now and then, a sign of a man accustomed to be listened to. Lev wouldn't have liked too much input from Bucky, but he would have appreciated the intelligent conversation, nonetheless.

Bucky took a deep breath and settled the volume back in its casing, “I don't want to sound rude, Lev, but why me precisely? While I'll be the first to admit the exquisite quality of your volume and you seem to have taken good care of it, I'm not a specialist.”

“True. However, the volume is a recent _acquisition_ ,” the word fell between like a heavy anchor, an underlining sort of menace behind it, though Bucky was sure it wasn't intended so, “and Pepper did come with great recommendations for you.”

“Thank you.” Bucky nodded and checked out the volume again. “It was kept in a quite good condition. I wouldn't be worried too much, I will try to intervene as little as possible. However, I'll be able to tell more once I have a closer look, see what needs to be done precisely, before I can give you an estimate, both on how long it might take me and how much you might have to pay.”

“Naturally.”

“Would you prefer to leave the volume with me or would you rather I come and see the volume in a specific location?”

“I would much appreciate if you'd be able to accommodate the second option.”

“Of course.” Bucky agreed without batting an eye since he was used with the collectors of rare books, who tended to be a weird and paranoid bunch. “If you have your personal assistant get in touch with mine and send her the details, that would be very much appreciated.”

“You're quite efficient, Bucky.” His accent somehow made Bucky's name sound hardened, the b coming out much harsher than normal. Lev put the book back in his messenger bag and stood up, followed by Bucky and Okoye, although Bucky was under the distinct impression that in that particular moment, Lev focused solely on him.

In fact, Bucky was mesmerized just as much by the green color of Lev's eyes, an incredible shade that Bucky had never seen before, all the more startling due to the man's jet-black hair. Perhaps because he had been so focused on Lev's eyes, he registered the wistful light that drowned in them for a moment.

“Your partner?” Lev asked, voice much gentler, as he nodded towards one of the pictures that Bucky kept on his desk. Bucky turned almost startled to see that Okoye was still in the room and glanced at the one picture that was visible from that angle. He and Steve were grinning at the camera, the sun shining behind them. They had their arms around each other, eyes twinkling, noses still pealing from the sunburn – it had been taken a few days before leaving Mexico and Bucky had fond memories of the way he had felt Steve's heat pressing into his, his sweaty palm cupping his shoulder, and his grin more luminous than it had been in years.

“Yes.” A simple three-lettered word that embodied everything that Bucky had wanted from life. He blushed heavily, although technically, it wasn't a lie – Steve had always been his partner for better or for worse.

“I'd like to invite you to dinner. Of course, you too, Ms. Gurira.”

The change in subject was causing Bucky whiplash. “Excuse me?” He frowned.

“Of course, you can bring your partner as well. I'd be more than happy to accommodate both of you. Let's say tomorrow at seven? I will make sure your personal assistant receives all the details. I'm looking forward to chatting some more about Russian fairytales and meet your partner. He must be an incredible man, too.”

“Yes, he is but –”

“Then it's decided.” Lev turned slightly towards Okoye, whose lips pressed tightly against each other. For anyone who'd meet her for the very first time, they'd confuse this with a sign of anger. The truth was that Okoye was terribly amused. “What about you, Ms. Gurira?”

“Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Solovyov,” and Bucky had not been aware up until that point that a name could sound so much as a threat. “I think I had enough of a Russian literature crash course for one afternoon.”

Lev chuckled, shyly lowering his head (there was nothing shy about a wolf, but somehow Lev was pulling it off). Solovyov shook hands again with both of them.

“I will see you soon. It was a pleasure meeting the both of you. Have a lovely afternoon!”

Okoye was the one to accompany Lev to the elevator, while Bucky crashed back on the comfortable couch and glanced back at the photo of him and Steve. For some reason, he had the distinct impression that Lev had been somehow testing waters throughout the whole meeting and somehow Bucky had caught up with him only at the end. For what purpose, Bucky couldn't tell, but he didn't like it one bit. He'd have to make sure that Steve could attend the dinner. Safety in numbers and all that jazz.

Okoye returned and sat on her armchair with the air of an empress whose royal servant had brought her tremendous entertainment for the day.

“What the hell just happened?” Bucky asked because somehow he wanted to confirm that his theories weren't off-base.

“I have no clue, James, but I think that Lev set his eyes on you and at that dinner, you'd better deliver or you're going to be dealing with a very insistent man. He looks like someone who hasn't been refused much throughout his life.”

“Should I talk to Ms. Potts about him?”

“I think it would be wise,” Okoye answered carefully. Then she suddenly grinned. “On the other hand, you could become the husband of a Russian oligarch, who shares your passion for books and would buy you any tome you fancy.”

“Yeah, no, thanks. I'm sure the pre-nup would be a killer.”

“Oh, I'm sure about that.” Okoye's grin widened. “But think of the sex.”

“Hey, what happened with Steve and me being a typical white gay couple from Brooklyn?” Bucky protested jokingly, but couldn't help his blush. He scratched at the back of his neck.

“It could be you and the Russian oligarch with millions of dollars to spend instead. You know, typical rich man and his toy boy.”

“Jesus! Seriously, where are you coming up with all of this?”

“I live vicariously through you, James,” Okoye said flatly, and Bucky suspected he was being thoroughly mocked.

“I'd be an awesome toy-boy, just so you know,” he grumbled at last, lacking any intelligent come back.

“Of course, because that's the issue here.” Okoye stared at her nails. “However, I am more inclined to ask about how you are going to break the subject to Steve.”

“What subject?”

“That he has to pretend to be your partner for that dinner.”

“Oh, shit!”

Okoye pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of Bucky and his despondent face. “This made what's left of this year!” she said with a grin.

“You are an evil woman.”

“You think about how you're going to break that news, Romeo. Never mind my enjoyment of the situation.”

“Shit, shit, shit.”


	4. Part IV

Bucky glanced outside the tinted window of an expensive and high-end restaurant in downtown Manhattan. You know, the kind that had no prices listed in the menu. Bucky and Steve were pretty well off but he was sure that even on their best of days, they couldn't afford to eat here. Bucky pried at the tight collar of his shirt, giving himself room to breathe. He glanced back at Lev and Steve discussing Russian art, apparently both avid fans of a guy called Aivazovsky or something – art was not Bucky's speciality. Steve's lips were curled into a shy smile.

Convincing Steve to pose as his partner had been incredibly easy, to the point that Bucky had found it highly suspicious. Funnily enough, Steve was also the one to calm him down when Bucky almost hyperventilated over the fact that hey, they might have to act as a couple. It was Steve to remind him that they acted couple-y enough as it was, to the point that even their friends rolled their eyes at them.

The funniest thing about this odd evening? The fact that ten minutes into the dinner, Lev had managed to charm the pants off of old man Rogers. Steve accompanied Bucky fully prepared to tell the Russian billionaire off and to defend Bucky's honour, but that hadn't been the case. Bucky and Steve had shared the food the way they usually did and Lev had made one or two more asinine jokes, but all in all, the dinner had been really enjoyable, both because of the food and of the company. The wolf in Solovyov was tamed, equally enthralled by Steve's knowledge and passion. If the idea didn't break his heart, Bucky thought that they would look really good together.

When it was time for them to leave, Steve claimed that he needed to use the bathroom so he left Bucky and Lev alone outside. Lev's car had already arrived; nevertheless, he waited patiently with Bucky for their cab to arrive.

The man was unbelievably alluring in his dark blue suit, his black hair curling around his ears and eyes glimmering. But the hard line of his jaw, the almost mechanical gestures when he took his cigarettes out told a different story. Bucky wondered if this man had ever been truly happy, despite his money. There was a sense of remoteness about him that resonated inside of Bucky and made him long to touch Lev in a way that might humanize him. But that would be playing with fire and it would consume Bucky sooner or later.

Hoping to take his mind off such things, Bucky accepted the offered cigarette. Although he had given up smoking a long time ago, he still felt the craving every once in a while, usually when socializing with other people. He had never smoked around Steve because of his asthma but the smell that clung to him had still affected his best friend so quitting smoking had been a no-brainer.

Bucky glanced back at the entrance of the restaurant. He hated the idea that Steve would come out and scrunch his nose like a little kid in distaste but there was nothing he could do but enjoy the smoke filling up his lungs. The tar of it was quite enticing.

"I envy you," Lev said softly, words almost drowned by the traffic around them. Cars passed by with indifference, their lights shifting over their bodies like feathers lost in the wind. There was something terribly lonely about the two of them staring together into the distance, smoking and barely talking.

"What for?"

"For him." Lev nodded towards the restaurant and took another drag of his cigarette. "I had something like this once but I ruined it."

"What was his name?"

"Dante." The word flew away in the air between them like a curse that had lost its meaning but not its power.

"Was he," Bucky had to clear his voice before he could go on, "was he a businessman as well?"

"No, he is actually an English teacher. At a high school in Chicago."

"You have a type." Bucky smiled knowingly.

The answering smile didn't reach Lev's eyes. "You have no idea."

"So what happened?"

"My money. I wasn't good at managing the class difference between us and each time we had an argument, instead of apologizing or discussing things, I threw money at him, buying things. So many things." His thin lips twisted into a disgusted curl. "He tried to tell me what he felt but I didn't listen and when he finally left, I still blamed him. For a long time, I blamed only him." Lev threw the rest of the cigarette and pressed the sole of his shoe on it. "It doesn't matter now." His green eyes shone into the semi-darkness of the street.

"I'm sorry to hear that.” Bucky studied Lev's face, wondering how long he was going to allow such a personal discussion to continue. “Are you sure you couldn't get back to him? Grovel a little, actually talk and listen this time?"

"I don't think he'd have me back. Even if he'd be willing to hear me out."

"I think you should try." Bucky flicked the cigarette and straightened up. "I have this friend who says making sacrifices for something worth fighting for is worth it."

"Yes, well, I asked you to restore my book, not my heart." Solovyov grinned as if he made the best of jokes.

Bucky shook his head. "Shut up. Don't pretend that you weren't testing waters."

"I was a little. I'm a sucker for intelligent people."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should." Suddenly, Lev loomed over Bucky, his hand cupping Bucky's right cheek, thumb moving tenderly over the stubbled skin. “You and Dante are so much alike,” he confessed, though his eyes were liquid granite, impenetrable and opaque. “The same kind of wintry blue, the same full lips.” Bucky found himself swallowing thickly as Lev pulled him closer still. “But he was just a bit taller than you. And he'd always keep his hair short, always curly, always in disarray.” Lev leaned forwards, his forehead almost touching Bucky's. “I wonder if you taste the same or different.”

“I think,” Bucky said, chest tight and clenched teeth, “that this answers your dilemma.” He gently grabbed Lev by the wrist and took his hand away, taking a few steps back in the process. When he let go of his wrist though, when he let go... Bucky took a shaky breath in. He couldn't help but notice the grief-stricken look that bled against that impenetrable green wall of Lev's eyes. “You can't keep looking for Dante in other people. You won't find any other like him.” Bucky turned his head at the cab that honked. He raised his shaky hand in acknowledgment.

“You're quite something, Bucky,” Lev said, at last, a warm smile blooming on his lips. “I appreciate your candor.”

“I think you should try and see whether you could get back to him but on his own terms.”

“Are you trying to offer me romantic advice?” Lev's bemusement was almost funny. “You do know who I am, right?”

“Honestly, I didn't know much about you beforehand.” The cab honked again just as Steve was exiting the restaurant, waving at both of them. Bucky smiled and he moved to follow Steve, when Lev grabbed his wrist in a slightly tighter than normal grip. The suddenness of the gesture could barely be reconciled with the soft and lost look on Lev's face.

“If I might need some advice –” Lev ran his fingers through his hair, strands of them falling silkily back on his forehead. It was definitely hard enough for the guy to ask for help so Bucky took pity on him.

“I'd be glad to help.”

“Even if it might be just me venting my frustration? I've been told that I can be terribly annoying.”

“I think I'll manage.” Bucky smiled softly and Lev let go. Bucky took a few steps towards the cab as Steve got in. “Thanks for tonight. I had fun.”

“Liar.”

“I'm not. Here's to hoping that next time you call, it'll be from a hotel in Chicago.”

“I'll send the details about the book.”

“You do that.” Bucky smiled again as he got in the cab as well. Lev came to say goodbye to both of them. Steve silently acknowledged his greeting, as if he knew what had transpired between Bucky and Lev.

Bucky felt like laughing; he had been expecting to avoid Lev's annoying advances the whole night and instead had ended up like Cupid's aide or something. He stared at Lev through the window, standing alone on the sidewalk with another cigarette in hand, until their cab turned at a corner and he was out of sight.

~*~

“You did what?” Bucky's aggrieved voice attracted the attention of the fellow restaurant-goers. He felt himself blush under the scrutiny but the news had come as a shock to the system. Sam glowered at him as Clint simply enjoyed his meal with the air of a person who had already had this conversation and had lost any hope of making sense of things. Bucky would have appreciated more of a heads-up from his part so, just for that, he gave a vicious kick to Clint's shin.

The guy yelped, affronted, “Hey, what did I do?”

“You knew about the whole thing and you didn't say a word,” Bucky replied and abandoned all hope of finishing his meal. Glancing at it forlornly one last time, he leaned back in his chair, pushed the plate away and took a deep breath, trying to make sense of the news that Sam had just broken to him.

“I don't need your approval, Bucky, you're not my parent,” Sam said, scowling hard at Bucky while simultaneously playing with his food. Yeah, like Mrs. Wilson was going to agree to this bullshit. “And leave Clint alone. He just accidentally stumbled upon us last week and I asked him to keep it a secret until I manage to talk to you guys about it.”

“Does Nat know?” Bucky pinched his nose, pressing the pads of his fingers deep into his closed eyes. Well, this was a clusterfuck of massive proportions and he really didn't know how to act.

“Not yet.”

“What about Steve?”

“No.”

“For fuck's sake, Sam!” Bucky hissed as he tried to keep his voice under control. He opened his eyes and scowled at his friend.

“I wanted to have dinner with you guys last week and mention that to you but you just had to go and try cutting your arm off.”

“Oh, so is it my fault now?”

“Bucky, it's no one's fault. Damn it, I just let you know that I have a boyfriend. It's not that big of a deal. You should be happy for me.”

“You know very well that my reaction to the news has nothing to do with the fact that you have a boyfriend.” Bucky threw the napkin on the table. “It's the fact that you got back together with Riley. Hell, you knew I would react like this, don't pretend to be surprised. That's why you chose to give me the news like this. Admit at least that you kind of hope that I can help you tell Steve and Clint can help you tell Nat.” Bucky took a deep breath. “Well, it might come as a shock to you, pal, but that's not going to happen.”

“I don't need your fucking blessing,” Sam growled, flushing a little because of course it was true and of course he needed all the help he could get. Bucky and Clint had nothing on Steve and Nat when it came to mother-henning and over-protectiveness and Sam damn well knew it. As if out of spite for making him admit his weakness, Sam rested his forearms on the table, leaning forward just a little bit menacingly. Clint abandoned the hope of finishing his meal as well and sat silently, drinking his beer with small sips and probably wondering whether he should have just called for the check. “I'm a mature man who can go back to his ex-boyfriend if he so chooses.”

“Yeah, you can. But here's the thing: we all remember how much you suffered after Riley re-enlisted without even discussing it with you. We picked up the pieces, spent time with you and tried to stop Nat from taking on the whole goddamn army of the United States as she promised to find out where your boyfriend was stationed and murder him in a torturous and painful way.” Bucky took a deep breath and throat tight, he swallowed thickly, “How long have you two been back together?”

“Two months.”

“Two whole fucking months?” Bucky hissed this time, aware of the worried glances that Clint threw his way. “Fucking hell, Sam!” Bucky craved Steve's presence in that particular moment because he sure as hell didn't know how to deal with the entire situation at all. Besides, Sam and Steve had always been better at talking about their feelings to each other.

“Look, he came back four months ago. He had been honorably discharged and had just moved back to New York. He must have seen on Facebook that I was in New York too and he tried to get in touch with me.” Sam scratched at his stubble, looking down and away. “He contacted me and we chatted for a while, then decided to meet. I didn't say anything because I wasn't sure that anything would come out of it.”

“That's not the point.”

“I know that's not the point, Bucky. But when I said we discussed the issue, we really did. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices in order to keep the people we love. Or at least compromise.” Sam started to play with the napkin in his lap. “We talked and I got angry and I said some stuff to him –”

“I'm sure he deserved it all.” Because Bucky was loyal, even when he was pissed off at Sam.

“True.” Sam smiled wanly. “Then we talked some more and we came to the conclusion that we'd like to try again. So we're taking it slow.”

“That's all fine and all, Sam, but just a few weeks ago, when Nat mentioned him, you acted like she mentioned the devil. And now you just invite me to lunch and tell me you guys are back together. I'm sorry if I don't like the idea of you guys together. I'm sorry I can't act happy about the idea, but I don't think I'm being unreasonable.”

“Well, at least I actually do something about the situation instead of moping around and just keeping my feelings inside of me.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Sam,” Clint said, for once his voice carefully controlled.

“No, no, let him speak.” Bucky leaned forwards. “What the fuck, Sam?”

“At least I'm taking action, I'm _doing something_ to be with the man I _love_.” Sam said viciously. “All you do is mope around when _every day_ is an opportunity to tell Steve how you feel.”

“I've got no clue what you're talking about.”

“Oh, please. You've been in love with Steve all your life and the only reason why you guys never got together is the fact that you are both cowards.” The words landed upon Bucky like a punch to the gut, the pain so real that for a moment he almost doubled over. “At least I'm trying here,” Sam barged on. “At least I'm willing to give Riley a second chance, at least I'm fighting for him, and if he breaks my heart a second time, I'll know that at least I did my best and I put myself out there. You could at least recognize that.”

“Whatever, Sam,” Bucky answered faintly. His chest felt tightly clenched, as if all the air had rushed out of the room, blood pounding in his ears. Silence descended upon them like a black shroud of misery and Bucky leaned back against his chair, looking down at his clasped hands as if they might give him a fucking answer.

He tried for a moment not to be so judgemental, but he was worried, he hadn’t lied about that. He remembered those months vividly – Sam's broken voice over the phone, Bucky or Steve flying to DC before they finally convinced him to move to New York, Nat trying to find out where Riley was stationed to give him a piece of her mind, Clint driving all the way there with Lucky just because Sam loved that stupid dog so much and his face lit up every time he saw him. In truth, Bucky was a little envious of Sam's courage, of his blatant disregard of the possibility that Riley might do something similar again, might make another monumental decision without even consulting Sam. Bucky didn't want to be around when that happened all over again. Except he would, because he was a good friend.

“If you don't need my blessing, then why tell me at all?” Bucky sighed because he was so not going to touch the problem of his own feelings with a ten-foot pole right now.

Sam smiled sheepishly and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Because I want your help to calm the situation when I inevitably tell Steve and Nat.” Bucky chuckled feebly. “I know you don't like the whole situation but honestly, I just need your guys' help and acceptance right now.”

“It's not that I'm not happy for you if things are good,” Bucky said, sighing and pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “It's just that I'm really worried that Riley might break your heart again.” Bucky glanced at Clint and he nodded back in support so Bucky tried to keep his voice level as he carried on. “But I know how much you loved him and how much he cared for you so I really hope that this time works out and he'll be less of a prick.”

“I'll make sure he learns his lesson,” Sam said and smiled warmly at Bucky, who swallowed the bile at the back of his throat. God, he really hoped that Riley was going to be there for Sam this time. Although he couldn't pretend that he understood what was going on through Sam's head, Bucky was aware that it wasn't his decision to make and that he would support his friend in any way he could.

“Nat is going to pitch the mother of all fits,” Clint said after dinner as they both watched Sam cross the street to his car. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Bucky, who took it with shaky hands.

“Steve more so,” Bucky mumbled as he took a long drag and watched Sam drive away. “They've always been close and I think Steve's going to be way more worried than both of us put together. Shit, Riley better get his head out of his ass this time and work for it.”

“He seemed different when I met them.”

“Different how?”

“Quieter. Like he's seen a lot but still came out the other side.”

“Well, he did see a lot. I imagine two more tours in Afghanistan weren't easy.”

“Yeah, I'd imagine so.” Clint shook his head. “Awww, man, Nat is going to murder me in my sleep when she finds out I knew about this all along and I didn't say anything to her.”

“Forget about murdering you in your sleep, pal. She'll do it while you're awake just to make sure that you know who's killing you.”

“I guess so.” Clint stubbed his shoe over the remains of his cigarette. “I've got to go figure a way out of this shit.”

“Good luck with that.” Bucky threw his cigarette butt and gave Clint a hug.

 _You know that what Sam said was true though, right?_ Clint signed when they broke apart. _You need to pull your head out of your ass as well and find a way to talk about your feelings with Steve. I don't think you'll get a no from the guy._

 _I know_ , Bucky signed back. _But there's still a chance of that, and we could both lose so much_.

Clint clapped him twice on the shoulder before squeezing lightly and letting him go. _It's your decision._

The truth was that Bucky was so goddamn envious of Sam and his courage to risk everything for his love, of his courage to keep his heart on his sleeve. Bucky had been in love with Steve so much of his life he wasn't sure anymore whether there's ever been a period when he _hadn't_ been in love with the guy, but he still hadn't dared to confess. Even when they owned a house together. Even when they spent most of their days together.

Anger boiled inside of Bucky like a pot left to simmer as he made his way to the subway station.

~*~

Bucky slammed the door hard, the tremors of the wood satisfying in their own way. He locked the door and threw his keys in the bowl. They carelessly fell next to it with a dry and mocking rattle. That pissed off Bucky even more. For a split second, he was tempted to take them and slam them a few more times until the goddamn key bowl would satisfyingly shatter. He changed his mind at the last minute. He fucking hated feeling so goddamn uselessly angry. For what? Because Sam had given him a piece of news that Bucky hadn't particularly liked, and then explicitly called him a coward? Well, yeah, but still...

He took his shoes off and tossed them aside. Bucky hissed through his teeth then unzipped his coat. His arm got stuck in one of the sleeves. He struggled with it for what felt like ages, like a headless chicken hopping around and trying to get his arm out. Had he been filmed, most likely, he would have been a wonderful contender for the funniest homemade video in America.

“Goddamn piece of –”

“Buck, what's going on?” Steve startled him so bad that Bucky yelped and almost managed to fall down on his ass before precariously regaining his balance at the last moment and gracelessly pressing his back against their colorful wall. His heart hammered in his chest so hard, Bucky feared that he might see it leap out of its cage of muscle and bone and hit the road because it had had enough of its master. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath, his face flushed. Only after the third shaky breath, he found the necessary strength to look up at Steve, only to immediately feel like crying.

“I'm angry,” he mumbled as Steve got down the final set of stairs and gently helped him take his coat off. He took it from Bucky's hands and hung it on the hall stand before cautiously turning his focus back on Bucky, who pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes.

“You're angry,” Steve repeated, his voice just as soothing as always. Bucky took another shaky breath and ran a trembling hand through his messy hair several times. He finally clasped his hands over his head and walked in the living-room.

“Sam got back together with Riley,” Bucky blurted out and, in that instance, the shock that registered on Steve's face was almost as satisfying as drinking poison on a rainy summer day, which was to say, not at all.

“The fuck? When did this happen?”

“Apparently, they've been in contact for the past several months and had it not been for Clint accidentally running into them, we might have had to wait for a few _more_ months to find out they got back together.”

“Seriously? Clint knew? Nat too?”

“Nope, Nat didn't. Or doesn't. Not yet, anyway.”

“Shit, shit, shit. I can't fucking believe this,” Steve growled. He ran his paint-splattered hands through his hair, sitting down on the couch heavily and watching Bucky, blue eyes like a summer sky darkening through a storm. “What is Sam thinking?”

“That it's his God-given right to fight for the man that he loves. That if he so chooses, he'll give a second chance to whoever he wants to and we have no say in this.”

“What? That doesn't make sense. We all liked Riley, but he fucking broke Sam's heart.”

“Yeah, I know but apparently, that's not the point. Sam said they talked it over and cleared the air between them. But honestly, at that point, I was already so fucking angry that I didn't listen to him anymore.” Bucky gave Steve a tight-lipped smile. “I was too preoccupied with being angry with myself.”

“What?” Steve tilted his head, his furrowed brow a little confused. And God, Bucky was so goddamn tired of all this. Bucky sat down on the couch as well, wringing his hands. This was fucking it.

“I was too preoccupied with being envious of him, with almost hating him for having so much courage, when there I was, a coward through and through.”

“Bucky, you've never been a coward.” Steve clasped Bucky's shoulder and squeezed lightly, the utmost sincerity dripping from each word. “That's one adjective that I'd never associate with you.”

“Oh, what the fuck do you know?” Bucky pushed Steve's hand away and stood up. He couldn't bear to look into Steve's eyes, suddenly wide with shock, so he looked down and away. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry, that's not something I meant to say. Shit, fuck!” He clasped his head again into his hands and let it lean back against the wall. “You have to understand,” he said after a while, throat painfully tensed, “I didn't want to tell you like this. I wanted to wait, maybe prepare a romantic dinner or a walk in the park or something. Basically, anything except this: me throwing words at you and hoping you'd understand what the fuck I'm talking about.”

“Buck, you're not making any sense.” Steve stood up as well and attempted to take a step towards Bucky, but at Bucky's flinch, he stopped, hurt poisoning everything between them. “Bucky, please, what's happening?”

“I did something, Steve,” Bucky said, voice cracked and raw as if he had screamed himself hoarse for hours. “You have to understand that I didn't want this to happen – or I did because it's the best thing in the world that's ever happened to me – but it's been weighing me down and driving me insane for the past few weeks. I'm sorry, I know that's not your fault but please,” Bucky shook his head and let his arms fall against his body again, “ _please_ , promise me that whatever happens, you won't hate me. That I won't lose your friendship.”

“Bucky, there's nothing in this goddamn world that could make me hate you. Absolutely nothing.”

Steve stared back at Bucky with all the confidence of a righteous man. God, he looked so ridiculous with that absolute seriousness on his face, but wearing that blue splattered t-shirt and those sweats that have had so many colors splattered on them that he was practically wearing a goddamn rainbow. With blue paint smudged on his right cheek and hair in disarray, Steve was the most beautiful person Bucky had ever had the privilege to witness and his heart clenched tightly in his chest as if it was all too much.

“Steve,” he murmured the name reverently. Like a whispered prayer told in a dark corner of a church. Like the melancholy of a Sunday summer afternoon, ice-cream melting on sticky fingers. Like a first kiss shared in a quiet forest. “ _Steve_ ,” Bucky said, shaking now with all the pent-up emotions of the last few weeks.

“What is it, Buck?” Steve asked oh so gently as he dared to take a step towards Bucky. This time Bucky remained still against the wall, so Steve took another few steps until he could finally reach Bucky and gently cup his cheeks, keeping a steady eye contact. Bucky shuddered under the weight of those blue eyes. He bit his bottom lip hard. “Tell me, Bucky.” Steve tilted his head and pressed his full lips into a pale resemblance of a smile.

“The things is,” Bucky said, taking a steeling deep breath. He placed his hands over Steve's and gave him a wobbly smile, rubbing his thumbs over Steve's delicate skin, “the thing is – god, fuck why can't I just fucking find the right fucking words?” Bucky took one of Steve's hands and pressed this cheek against the calloused skin and closed his eyes. He turned his face and placed a kiss right in the center of Steve's palm and took a shaky breath before opening his eyes and looking straight into Steve's eyes. “I'm in love with you,” Bucky said simply, throat tight with emotion and abject horror that he might lose Steve. “I've been in love with you for most of my life. I don't know why only a few weeks ago, it occurred to me that this love has never faded but God, honestly, I never wanted that, even when you hadn't figured out that you're bisexual.”

Steve opened his mouth a few times, eyes wide opened and slightly flushed. He pulled his hand away from Bucky and took a few steps back. “What?”

“I love you,” Bucky repeated even as his heart was basically trying to eat itself away and most likely succeeding too. “I'm in love you. People throw words around all the time like soulmate and predestined and other bullshit but God, I never saw this with you. You're Steve: the fucking annoying guy with a righteous streak a mile wide, who gets into fights, but who's incredibly generous and loving and caring. God, Steve, don't you see?” Bucky pleaded by then, hands shaking uncontrollably. “You're _it_ for me, pal. There's no Bucky without Steve. Sam can fucking call me co-dependent all he wants. I don't care. I just – I love you, Steve.” Bucky swallowed, his stomach in his throat. “And I really want to be with you 'til the end of the line. If you let me.”

Bucky hadn't realized how silent the house was until he had stopped talking and looked at Steve, waiting for an answer. His best friend stared back in awe, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open. Bucky thought that that was it: Steve was going to say _thanks, but no thanks pal, take a hike;_ then he'd promise they'd stay friends but gradually they'd start to avoid each other and talk less, and before they'd know it, their families would no longer spend holidays together like they had and Bucky wouldn't remember the last time he saw Steve and the whole situation would spiral out of control until they'd have to sell the house because they couldn't stand each other anymore.

Don't let anyone ever say that Bucky Barnes was not a dramatic diva, because most definitely, that was not the case.

In those few terrible moments of silence, while Steve presumably gathered his bearings after Bucky stunned him with such a huge confession, Bucky had another five to ten scenarios similar to the one he mentioned, because he was dramatic like that, but also because he'd be able to give the screenwriters from Hollywood a run for their money. However, as the seconds ticked by, Bucky's heart sunk to a new definition of the abyss, deeper and darker than the Mariana Trench, hope crumpling like a castle of cards in the middle of a hurricane.

“It's okay, Steve,” he reassured his best friend, no longer capable of looking at him. Bucky looked down at his shaky hands, blinking rapidly because his eyes were wet – he couldn't help it. The pain was excruciating – was it stupid that he thought everything might turn for the better after all? “It's okay,” he croaked but he could barely speak. “As long as you promise to continue being my friend, I –”

“I'm in love you with you too, you moron,” Steve said firmly, _finally_ , and closed the space between them faster than a freight train, wrapping his arms around Bucky so tight, as if someone was about to step in and yank Bucky away from him forever. “I love you too.”

“Well, I think moron was a bit uncalled for,” Bucky groused but clung just as tightly because – well, hell, yeah, that's why.

“You thought that I was going to say no to you. That's why the moron thing.”

“But you were standing there, gaping at me like a fish. What was I supposed to think?”

“That you can't read minds.” Steve raised his head and looked at Bucky, literally beaming. “Besides, you called me annoying, so please listen to me when I say pot meet kettle.”

“Are you going to kiss me now or do I have to wait for you to de-construct my whole speech first, before I can get my hands on you?”

“First of all, you already have your hands on me, _moron_. Second of all, I'm going to kiss you then I'm going to show you something.”

“Is it your dick?”

Steve winced and looked at Bucky with the air of a man that kind of realized what he was getting himself into, “Not if you keep acting like that.”

“It was a joke, old man Rogers. Learn to take a joke.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “I have plenty of those in my wings and I intend to use them all.”

“I'm going to kiss you now if only to stop these terrible jokes of yours.”

“Steve Rogers, always the sacrificing idiot,” Bucky mumbled and grinned again as Steve leaned forwards and brushed their lips together. Look, Bucky wasn't about to lie and say that sparks flew all over the goddamn place, or that he was electrocuted with pleasure. It was the first time they'd kissed and they'd been on the same wavelength. It was like coming home after a long difficult journey. Bucky pulled Steve tighter to his body because he couldn't bear the thought of having any distance between them, not anymore.

Steve was kissing him as if he was trying to get acquainted with him – slowly, lips pressing against each other again and again with little urgency. And then Steve's tongue delved deeper and suddenly, Bucky was being kissed within an inch of his life. Like Steve could breathe only through Bucky, nipping and soothing so many times that Bucky felt utterly owned by this man.

“God, I love you too, Buck, I love you,” Steve breathed after a while, pressing those words back into Bucky's mouth like a hidden benediction whispered to his very bones. Bucky was utterly shattered as he held on to Steve's shoulders. “The taste of you – _fuck_!” If Bucky's lips were uncharted territory, then Steve was the valiant new explorer that had wished to know the smallest detail. “I want to show you something – I have to show it to you.” Steve wasn't making much sense but Bucky allowed him to pull away, still holding hands as Steve led him upstairs into his studio. Not exactly the room that Bucky had expected. And he said so to Steve.

“I know, but it's important,” Steve replied, suddenly bashful, rubbing at the back of his head. He made Bucky stand in the middle of the room as he went to the corner and pulled out a storage box from behind an unfinished canvas. “You once asked me why I don't sketch you or paint you.” Steve put the box on his work table and opened it. Inside there were only sketchbooks, as far as Bucky could see. “The thing is Buck, I lied.” Bucky's hands trembled as he grabbed a sketchbook and let it fall open. Sketches of Bucky – only of him. Bucky eating, Bucky smiling, Bucky looking at something in the distance. Bucky looked up at Steve and pressed the sketchbook to his chest, suddenly feeling unworthy of such attachment and devotion.

“All of them of me?” he asked although he was sure that it was stupid because the way Steve blushed, all splotchy and endearing, made Bucky's heart tremble with new love. Just when he thought that it was impossible to love this man more, there he went, proving him wrong.

“Yes, Buck, all of them. Stretching along quite a few years.” Steve pried the sketchbook from Bucky's hands and set it on the table then stared back at him, holding on to his hands like the sincere idiot that he was. "You always say you're not beautiful, that you're just an ordinary man. And maybe to other people you are, but not to me. Never to me. I'd kiss you on the bend of your elbow, on the shell of your ear, on your slightly crooked nose or on the freckle hidden in the bow of your lips all the time. Just because I can, just because you're mine. Just because I get to have the privilege to witness you in your entirety as you are." Steve smoothed two fingers on the back of Bucky's forearm and Bucky trembled in desire, swallowing thickly, heart asunder. "I've been witnessing you in all your shapes and sizes, at your best and at your worst and you're still the most beautiful person I've ever seen. There's no other person like you in this world, Buck. Not for me."

“God, I love you so goddamn much, you fucking sap!” Bucky pressed against Steve with renewed fervor. “You're going to show them to me. All of them. God, you're the worst. _Steve_.”

The name sounded like a sob, full of lust, as they began kissing again frantically. Bucky pushed against Steve's t-shirt until he got the idea and lifted his arms, only breaking contact with Bucky's lips for a split second as he tugged it over his head. Then he reached out and did the same with Bucky's jumper and undershirt. Bucky traced his hands on Steve's back, mapping each curve and sinew, before gripping Steve's shoulders and pulling him tighter still, closer than ever before, and still not close enough. Even as their skin touched and Bucky moaned in pleasure because having the privilege to be touched like this by Steve was more than he had ever hoped for.

And it was Steve, brave, incredible Steve that broke the kiss, trailing his lips down on Bucky's jaw then neck, leaving a path of bites and kisses so hot that Bucky almost lost his head in pleasure. All he could do was hold on under the unleashed passion that finally could be released.

They giggled as they both tried to pull the other out of their pants and giggled some more when they almost slammed their heads together. They traded kisses and soft touches even as they both grabbed at each other and started to jerk each other off. They pressed their lips together unrestrained and famished as they savored each other for the very first time. Bucky scraped his teeth against Steve's jaw, licking at his pulse point and nipping against his hard shoulders and collarbone, overwhelmed by the little noises that Steve was making, filling Bucky with greed and hunger of more.

He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe anymore as Steve eased them down on the floor, right there in the middle of the studio, pressing against each other so tight that Bucky arched, pleasure melting down his bones, coiled tight. With Steve on top of him, he wouldn't have been able to tell where he ended and Steve began. Bucky was frantic, kissing, biting, and licking with abandon, moaning helplessly and thrusting into Steve's hand. He was unable to assuage that thirst to see Steve come and then make it happen all over again as pleasure coursed through his veins like thick molasses, erasing anything else from his mind.

Steve cupped his jaw and made Bucky kiss him, tilting his head slightly and deepening the kiss, making it impossible for Bucky to concentrate on that delightful and feverish flush on his cheekbones, but tasting the utterly delicious curve of his lips. Steve's skin burned under his hands and when Steve finally released him, Bucky pressed his face against Steve's neck, breathed in the scent of sweat and paint and came, unselfconscious under Steve's hungry gaze. A few minutes later, Steve followed him.

“We should do this every day,” Bucky panted into Steve's skin, still greedy for his touch, unable to let him go. Holding Steve's weight felt like a privilege, the sweat and warmth of his body silent benedictions. “From now on, every day that we're not doing this is a wasted day.”

“Glad I could give you some perspective.” Steve kissed his cheek and rolled aside. Bucky turned on his side, chasing Steve's smile and cupping his cheek, thumb slowly caressing his cheekbone.

“We're doing this then, right?”

“Every day, for the rest of our lives.” Steve took his hand in his and kissed the inside of his wrist. “ _I'll follow you forever, my beloved,/ 'Til the end of the line_.”

“You remember.” Bucky leaned forward and brushed his lips over Steve's, hair brushing his face like a soft curtain hiding them away from the rest of the world.

“Always.” Steve's eyes were liquid when they looked back at Bucky. He pulled Bucky over his body and his hands settled on Bucky's lower back, warm and possessive.

“You're going to make me pose from now on, aren't you?” Bucky grinned down at Steve because he couldn't help it. He had a feeling that he was going to be obnoxiously smug for the rest of the year. At least.

“Yeah,” and Steve trailed a few kisses on Bucky's right shoulder.

“You know I don't have the patience, right?”

“I'll think of something motivating.” Steve thrust shallowly, and even though they were both spent, Bucky's breath hitched. Steve kissed him thoroughly, chasing Bucky each time they broke for air, so Bucky let himself be kissed until their lips were swollen and sore.

~*~

Happily-ever-after looked suspiciously like every other day, except now Bucky got to wake up next to Steve. Ugh, actually even _that_ wasn't out of the ordinary.

Except that when Bucky woke up the following morning to Steve's foul morning breath and his hard-on pressed tight to Bucky's ass, Bucky didn't pretend anymore that he urgently needed the toilet. This time, he just basked in Steve's warmth, as the guy was still deeply asleep, half on top of Bucky, one hand pressed tightly, possessively against the hot skin of Bucky's abdomen.

Bucky grinned like mad and hid his face into the pillow. He was so happy. He lay there as still as he could, not moving a muscle, because Sam had been right – this right here was worth fighting for, worth taking all the chances in the world.

It took him almost a quarter of an hour to extricate himself from under Steve and even then, he smiled like a moron as he made his way to the bathroom. Having taken care of the morning ablutions, Bucky returned to the room only to kiss Steve's cheek then go downstairs.

A timid sun was poking from under the heavy clouds but it had no power over New York anymore. Winter would soon follow and there'd be snowstorms and traffic warnings and schools being closed and Steve would spend entire days in his studio, trying to use the elusive light before it faded. Like an artistic bear that couldn't go into hibernation but still needed to find something to do. And Bucky would work on books and read and peruse catalogues and cook for the both of them because if he had to wait for Steve, they'd never eat.

Happily-ever-after looked like Bucky hiding _The New York Times_ sports section because the Yankees were being morons again and Steve didn't need to see that so early in the morning. It looked like a second cup of coffee and Steve coming downstairs and pressing hard against his back, humming softly and stealing Bucky's coffee while kissing the daylights out of him.

Happily-ever-after looked like Bucky leaning against the counter, watching Steve take a long gulp of Bucky's coffee and wincing when he remembered Bucky's coffee was more sugar and milk than coffee, not the other way around. It looked like Steve's eyes going soft when glancing at Bucky.

Happily-ever-after looked like Bucky pulling at Steve's t-shirt, his boyfriend setting the coffee on the table and pushing tight against him. It looked like Bucky wrapping his arms around Steve's shoulders and kissing him unhurriedly. Tenderly. Lovingly.

It looked like a searing kiss. Right there. In the kitchen, drenched in the timid rays of the sun, cold toes against the frigid tile, arms wrapped around each other, and no one could tear them apart.

They kissed and kissed and kissed.

Happily-ever-after looked exactly like that.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man, I planned to write just 10k, but I almost tripled my goal as Lisa's art inspired me tremendously. Her art is exquisite and deserves all the recognition. She's been generous with her time, patience and art (she created so much more than it was required and I'm eternally grateful for that). Her art is exquisite and deserves all the recognition. I thank her for her patience and graciousness, but also for offering me the opportunity of writing a story based on her wonderful art. <3
> 
> Naturally, in the meantime, I stressed the hell out of my beta, captncat, with terrible grammar and spelling errors, not to mention plot inconsistencies. I honestly couldn't have made it without her and whatever mistake is left, please know that it's mine and mine alone. She deserves all the recognition of being the amazing beta reader that she is.
> 
> And if you made it this far, kind reader, know that, contrary to what you might expect, I have nothing against pineapple on pizza, but yes, I am as clumsy as Bucky (actually worse than him, to my family's eternal consternation). I did read the books referenced in this fic, but alas, I have no clue how I can restore a book to its former glory. Also, I've been told it'd be nice to mention that you can find me on Tumblr @allegra-dreams.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


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